The Reasons Why
by duvalia
Summary: Roach wasn't always so quiet or so clumsy. He also never used to hide his face behind a mask and goggles. Nor had he always been a smoker. While on a mission Ghost's team is captured, the days that follow becoming the worst they'd ever experience.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **This is only a prologue, so it's slightly on the short side. And I don't know whether or not Doc is actually a medic, but it matches for obvious reasons. He has his part to play but the focus of this story are still Roach and Ghost (which is probably unfortunate for them).

**WARNING! **This story contains _graphic _descriptions of character torture as well as character death.

* * *

**Prologue**

Doc opened his eyes, suddenly alert at the approaching sound of heavy boots and something being dragged across the metal gratings of the floor. His body ached all over, but he used what strength he had left to take in the new arrivals. An unconscious shiver went down the medic's spine when he noticed it was _that_ woman approaching.

Lylith Bathory they called her; no doubt a pseudonym derived from the infamous "Bloody Lady of Čachtice". With her bloodstained gloves and apron she was emulating the notorious serial killer quite well.

Lylith, instead, called herself a doctor of sorts. Doc would've agreed with that assessment if he believed Josef Mengele was a real doctor too since he was the only person who shared her same medical practices. Although rather than twins, she seemed more interested in which gender was more capable of enduring pain.

The memory of the young girl screaming next to him resurfaced and Doc shut his eyes as if the action would block out the sounds. Withstanding torture was something he was trained to do, but it was a different thing entirely to have to watch and listen to the suffering of a little girl.

"How's my little medic?" Shaking the screams from his head, Doc opened his eyes, his face contorting in disgust at the sight of the woman. Even if he _wanted _to say something, he couldn't for his voice had gone hoarse after their… _talk. _She laughed in response. "That's quite an expression. I'm glad. It means I haven't broken you yet."

The dark haired woman was gazing at him intently, half of her face obscured by a surgical face mask. Then as if suddenly bored with him, she continued down the walkway to the cell next to Doc's, unlocking it with the simple turn of a key. It was then Doc noticed the smell of burnt flesh, his eyes shifting from the woman to the two guards trailing behind her, an unconscious man held between them.

"I had fun with him. But don't worry, you're still my favorite."

The words didn't register as Doc watched the guards place their prisoner in his new cell. The man's hands were cuffed together, much like the medic's own, and lay motionless on his stomach. He'd also been stripped of his shirt, so Doc could see marks from what looked to be cigar burns and various other cuts. The smell was almost enough to make him gag, but as a doctor, and a military one at that, he had dealt with worse.

On closer inspection, Doc noticed a cut that started between the man's eyes and slanted diagonally across the bridge of his nose under one eye, but the man's face was covered in so much blood it was difficult to tell where the incision ended.

"Roach?"

Speaking caused a strain on his throat, but he called out again desperate for a response. He was worried that the man was dead, but a subtle rise and fall of the sergeant's chest told Doc otherwise.

Even if each member of the One-Four-One had enough medical training for quick patch ups, Doc was glad that he was the one around since he knew what had been done to Gary was beyond the others' expertise. He wondered if Ghost was currently suffering the same fate as the sergeant. The masked man had been their commanding officer for the mission, but since Doc had been placed in his cell he hadn't see the Brit. Archer's and Ozone's whereabouts were unknown to him as well.

Though with the current situation Doc guessed it didn't really matter who was with Gary, but hell if it wasn't going to do what he could. He'd already witnessed both Scarecrow's and Toad's deaths. "Roach!" The medic yelled again despite his body's protest.

_Was he dead? _Gary came to the conclusion that he wasn't since he didn't think _being_ dead was as painful as dying. Maybe he was in hell, suffering its eternal flames. It certainly felt like he'd been burned. Gary tried to clear his mind and focus on his breathing, but only a strangled noise escaped his mouth. His eyes snapped open and he turned over on his stomach and began gasping for air, which only furthered the pain in his throat.

"Gary! What's wrong!"

Gary wanted to look over to the owner of the familiar voice, but his eyes began watering as he struggled to breathe. He clutched at his throat as words refused to leave his mouth.


	2. Let's Do This

**A/N: **Sorry for the wait! I've been busy then too tired to write when I _was _free. I forgot to mention that this is pre MW2, but also slightly AU as some characters seen in the game will die.**

* * *

**

**Two days earlier…**

Roach gnawed on his lower lip as he sat in a corner of the pave low. It was a nervous habit he couldn't seem to kick even after Scarecrow had mentioned the tendency contributed to the team's continuous treatment of him as the "FNG". He looked up at the sound of another and gave MacTavish a sad smile when he saw the captain make his way towards him. The Scotsman was doing his best to hide it, but the to the trained eye it was obvious the man was still nursing an injury.

"Why so tense, Roach?" MacTavish asked as he sat, the trek from his room to the helo clearly a strain on his body.

"I just… really wished you were coming with us." Gary knew it sounded childish, but there was something about the Scotsman's nearby presence that gave Roach a sense of security. Unfortunately, the captain was under strict orders from Shepherd to remain on base. He was still recovering from their last assignment so even the simple act of running tore open his wounds. "And should you really be smoking?"

"I'm already following orders to stay in bed, they can give me this at least." He held the pack out toward Roach. "Want one?"

"You know I don't smoke. And neither should you."

MacTavish merely laughed before lighting up. They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, the captain content to smoke his cigarette and Roach comforted by the other man's presence. "Don't worry. Ghost will take care of you."

Roach hesitated a moment not knowing how to express his thoughts. "It's not that I don't trust him because I do..." He trusted Riley with his life and knew the XO shared the sentiment; there was just something about their assignment that felt off… felt _wrong_. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"You're thinking too much about it." MacTavish stood to leave as the others approached. Smoking was one thing, but Shepherd would hunt down and lock up the Scotsman himself if he left with the rest of the team. "You haven't let me down yet, mate." He muttered as he mussed the sergeant's hair. Roach beamed with the praise, his nerves calmed with those simple words.

As the captain headed out he spoke a few words to each of his men as they boarded the helo but stopped a few moments longer when it came to his second in command. Roach couldn't hear what they were saying much less read lips as MacTavish faced the other way and Ghost was wearing his skull mask as usual.

"You forgot this."

Roach turned to the speaker who was holding out a folding knife. "Thanks Doc." He smiled appreciatively. In addition to the standard tactical knife they all carried, Roach always brought along the folding knife. It had been a gift from several of the other members, the blade made from a carbon steel rod that had almost killed the sergeant during a mission. There was also an engraving of "GRS" etched onto the blade. Though instead of his name and call sign, Roach liked to think of it as "Ghost, Roach, Soap", having learned the captain's old nickname. And while a childish notion, it gave him a sense of connection to his commanding officers. Ghost had also mistakenly thought the knife was his as he and Gary shared the same initials, albeit in a different order. One would've thought the Brit was dyslexic.

"No problem. I know what it means to you," the medic replied. Aside from their COs, Doc was probably the next closest person to Roach. It was a friendship that unexpectedly thrived as Gary seemed to be the only one who rarely ever needed medical attention, which typically meant the sergeant spent the least time in the medical ward. Either Roach had been blessed by Lady Luck herself or he had his own personal guardian angel. Misfortune seemed to befall everyone but him.

"You ready Roach?" Toad exclaimed rather excitedly as he psyched himself up. "Fucking Makarov's going down!" Everyone had their way of prepping for missions and this was apparently Toad's method. As the usual silent sniper, the man had a lot of extra energy to spare.

"Relax dude. There's still some time before we get there. And you heard Shepherd, these people may not be working with that bastard."

"Then we simply put a stop to these people and their nefarious activities," Toad continued.

"Nefarious? You've been reading the dictionary before light's out again?" Scarecrow countered once again belittling his already short friend.

"What? I can't have nefarious in my vocabulary?" Toad jumped on his friend, choking the man from behind.

Ghost wanted to tell the two to shut up and sit down, but he noticed the small smile on Roach's face as he watched the troublemakers at work. While the sergeant had ceased his lip biting, in his left hand he held his custom made knife and was unconsciously flipping it open then closed in an endless cycle.

More than anything it was always the _waiting_, the anticipation that got to Gary. Once on the field, Roach executed orders perfectly and usually came out untouched, with the exception of that one time he'd been impaled right through by a steel rod. Gary was on the One-Four-One for a reason so Ghost knew he didn't really need to look after the sergeant, but did make the effort to ease the man's nerves before each of their assignment's together.

"Lieutenant. ETA sixty seconds."

"Roger that."  
~~~~~~~

Roach freed himself from his chute before securing his gear and weapons. Toad was doing the same off to his right while Scarecrow and Doc were already scanning the area.

"Everyone okay?" Ghost asked as he came out from under his parachute. "Bollocks," he cursed as he scanned the area. "Archer, do you copy?"

A few moments passed before Archer's voice came crackling through. "Archer here. Shut up Ozone, no one cares about you. Move!" Ghost rolled his eyes at the immaturity of his team. Meanwhile, the four men currently with him were crouched low ready for anything. "Sorry sir. We landed a little ways off to the east of you."

"Roger. Continue with the mission. We'll meet up if we can."

"Solid copy. Out."

Ghost glanced at his team, each man with his own little quirks and weapons preference. Roach looked at him, an excited look and grin on his face. Riley returned the grin, even if it went unseen behind his mask. "Let's do this."  
~~~~~~~~~~~

The distinct sound of a rifle being fired made Roach's heart sink. As he turned, blood splattered across his face, the bottom half the only thing left of Toad's head as the man's body fell to the ground.

"NOO!" Roach screamed as he reached for his dead comrade.

"ROACH! Get down!" Ghost yelled as he tackled the sergeant. A bullet wizzed past as the two hit the dirt. "Stay low." The masked man turned away, but Roach's gaze was still focused on the body of his deceased friend. He wiped at the blood, his hand shaking in realization at how much there was. "Roach stay with me," Ghost said calmly in his ear. Roach felt the heat emanating from the lieutenant's recently fired rifle. "Get the M14," Ghost muttered sadly. "We'll need it."

Taking a deep breath Roach nodded, moving toward Toad's body as Ghost covered him. "I'm sorry," Roach murmured as he picked up Toad's pride and joy, before slowly heading back to Ghost's position. Roach saw a flash of light in the distance and Ghost fired. "Tango down."

"Ghost we need to find some cover," Doc yelled from behind a rock that was rather lacking in size. Scarecrow stood behind an outhouse covering their rear.

"You two run for the house. Roach and I'll cover you," Ghost ordered. Doc threw a smoke grenade then he and Scarecrow headed toward the house under the smoke's concealment.

Roach took Doc's spot behind the rock and Ghost behind the outhouse, now only focused on the world in their scopes. Ghost fired again and confirmed two kills despite having only fired once. A shot sounded in the distance and Ghost cursed releasing his hold on his rifle as he moved back behind his cover.

"It's nothing!" Ghost yelled, meaning he wanted Roach to forget about him and take advantage of the enemy sniper revealing his position. Putting his concern aside, Roach concentrated on his task and pulled the trigger, satisfied at the sight of red in his scope.

"Tango down." Roach hid behind his lame excuse for cover and looked toward his commanding officer. Ghost seemed fine as he wrapped some gauze around a wound on his forearm. He couldn't tell how serious the injury was from his vantage point, but Doc could easily deal with it once Ghost reached him.

"Roach, I want you to head toward Doc's position."

"You first. I'll cover you."

"Damn it Roach!"

"You're injured. And don't worry, I'll be right behind you." Rather than continue arguing, Ghost ran in the direction of the house; Roach followed once the masked man reached his destination.

Doc was properly bandaging Ghost's arm and Scarecrow had picked up the lieutenant's temporarily discarded weapon. Looking up, Doc handed Roach some gauze to wipe his face of the drying blood; the sergeant regretfully accepted.

"Roach, I want you and Scarecrow to secure the house. We'll be right behind you."

Roach nodded taking point, Scarecrow following close behind. The back door led them into an empty kitchen, the settled dust making it obvious the house had been abandoned for quite awhile. They entered the living room, careful of the windows as enemy snipers could still be in the area.

"This place is deserted," Roach muttered as he glanced at the walls. Not even one picture. "I wonder who-" Something dropped and Roach immediately turned around, his finger on the trigger of his ACR. Warm liquid once again met his skin and Roach only fired one shot before he was knocked out.

* * *

**A/N: **Next chapter will cover what happened between this one and the prologue.


	3. What's Your Name?

**A/N:** I have this personal belief that the 141 members seen in "Loose Ends" were personally chosen by Ghost, meaning they're the people he's closest to on the task force (aside from Soap).

Takes place after the previous chapter and leads into the events in the prologue.

**WARNING! **From now on, this story will contain graphic descriptions of character torture.

* * *

MacTavish threw his headset across the room in anger, the sound of Doc's screams echoing in his head. Here he was, just sitting at some computer completely useless while some of his best soldiers (and closest companions) were off getting who the hell knew happen to them.

Ghost's team had been captured; the only transmissions John received now were Doc's tortured screams accompanied by the laughter of a woman. He knew he couldn't do anything for the medic now, so his main concern became what had happened to the rest of the team.

Shepherd had left the room pissed off, but MacTavish knew the general could honestly care less about the missing Task Force members. The stick up his commander's arse was that the mission hadn't been completed meaning the mysterious group was still in operation. The fact that the 141 was a multinational ops also meant it was nothing to Shepherd to simply send in another team having not lost the element of surprise nor would he suffer the backlash of public scrutiny.

"MacTavish! Incoming," Royce announced as he flipped a switch.

The radio crackled and not surprisingly a female voice greeted them. "These are quite some men you have under your command."

"What do you want?" MacTavish asked darkly.

The woman laughed. "A Scotsman. How intriguing."

There was a pause and some shuffling around before the sound of heavy breathing came through. "Fuck. You. Whore." It was Doc. There was more movement before the woman spoke again.

"As you heard, your medic's fine. Still so full of life! Though I can't say that's the case for the rest of your team."

"What'd you do to them?" MacTavish hated to be played around with, but he had no choice as this woman held the lives of his men in her hands.

She was silent for a moment. "I can't say I know the names of those who were killed. Your men are very tight lipped. It's rather upsetting, but of course that makes it more gratifying when I finally break them." She laughed again, the sound while not annoying grated on his nerves. MacTavish felt a hand on his shoulder, Royce was by his side attempting to calm him. "I haven't had a chance to meet my new prisoners yet. Only your lovely medic." MacTavish was about to speak, but the woman once again piped up. "Oh. And one more soldier. He's rather young. Dark brown hair. Boyishly attractive features."

_Roach_.

"He's got quite a mouth on him. My men didn't seem to take too kindly to it though." He could almost hear the smirk in her words. "Maybe you'll come for them yourself. _MacTavish_."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ghost pulled the bottom half of his mask down, transferring the piece of wire he kept in his mouth to his cuffed hands. As he attempted to unlock his bindings, Archer scanned the area taking in every detail and Ozone continued yelling at their nonexistent guards for a damn cigarette. Finally freeing his hands he tossed the wire over to Ozone who was in the cell across from his. Archer was locked up in the one next it.

"What happened to you?" Ozone asked as he noticed Ghost's bandaged arm.

"Sniper, but it's nothing. A flesh wound."

"Where's Toad?" Archer looked Ghost in the eye as if daring him to lie.

Ghost had no intention of lying especially to someone like Archer, who was trained to watch and study people. But damn if he wasn't so willing to disclose what had happened to Toad. The lieutenant gritted his teeth in frustration. "Gone," he stated simply.

"The others?" The comment was made rather offhandedly, but the sniper _was_ concerned about Roach and everyone else. Ghost knew the reason for his attitude was Toad's death. The two had been a paired sniper team ever since they'd entered the 141 and as a result had become extremely close despite their clashing personalities. Sometimes they'd be sent on week long assignments, Archer the sniper and Toad his spotter; though Toad was just as capable with the rifle in his hands. After so many years of being the one on the prowl, Toad finally met his end at the other side of the scope.

"Scarecrow's dead too." Ghost would rather not have dwelled on it, but the image of the clean slice across his subordinate's neck before the blood sprayed across Roach kept replaying in his head.

Ozone dropped the wire before stooping down to pick it up again. Minor injuries were typical, more serious ones not unusual, but deaths in the One-Four-One were almost unheard of; now two were dead within the span of a few hours. "What about Roach and Doc?" Ozone inquired as he tossed the wire to Archer.

"I only remember Roach taking a blow to the head before I blacked out myself. I can't say I saw what happened to Doc," Ghost replied, knowing his voice wouldn't give away his true feelings of frustration… and guilt. Archer was still fiddling with his handcuffs, so the fact that Ghost was sharing less than he knew went unnoticed.

"But why not kill us all?" Ozone wondered, sticking his finger in the keyhole of the lock on his door. "Eh, sorry," he muttered quickly when he noticed Archer's expression.

"Information, probably," Archer muttered.

"Yeah, but what do we know that they want? I doubt they even know who we are."

"We'll just have to wait and see." Ghost said not really paying attention. He was more worried about what happened to Roach and Doc; not because they couldn't take care of themselves but a woman in a lab coat had seemed particularly interested in the medic.

"So what now?" Archer asked as he rubbed his wrists. A simple wire may have been enough to pick the locks of their handcuffs, but the doors to their cells were a different story.

"Ozone. Still need a cigarette?"  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Wake up sleepy head."

Roach slowly opened his eyes, the bright lights shinning onto his face almost giving him a headache. However, he became suddenly alert when he realized he was strapped down into a chair, stripped of all his gear and most of his clothes. His captors apparently had the decency to leave him in his pants and boots. He was also vaguely aware of a pain in his head.

"Nice to see you awake so soon." Roach looked over to the speaker, a woman in a lab coat. While he knew his situation wasn't ideal, for some reason he couldn't remember where the hell he was. "I apologize for your head," she said sympathetically. "It's just a concussion. But I did have your medic look you over so now you should be as good as new! I would've helped you myself, but unfortunately healing isn't my forté," the woman continued as she slipped on some gloves.

"What do you want with me?" Roach knitted his eyebrows at the odd sound of his voice.

"I had a talk with your commanding officer, MacTavish was it?"

"He's here?" Roach answered excitedly. "Why you smiling?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I was actually hoping you could tell me where he is."

Before Roach could answer the door to the room slammed open and Roach jerked as the memory of watching two of his comrades die became clear in his mind. A large man walked in and shifted the cigar in his mouth to one hand as he leaned over to whisper into the woman's ear. The man spoke in a language Roach didn't understand, but he also spoke quietly enough that the sergeant couldn't discern what language it actually was.

"I'll deal with it later," the woman replied in English, a faint accent present in her voice.

"Where's the rest of my team?" Gary demanded despite the fact that he was in no position to be ordering others around.

The woman sighed before taking the cigar from the guard. "You could've made it easier on yourself, but I suppose it _is _more fun this way."

Roach screamed at the contact of the lit cigar on his arm. He thrashed around attempting to escape the pain, but she held it firmly against his skin. It felt like an eternity but it wasn't even thirty seconds before she pulled the cigar away.

"Okay, let's start off easy. My name is Lylith. And you are?"

Roach remained silent, his eyes narrowed as he tried to ignore the pain. Lylith waved off the guard and as he left she took a puff from the cigar, the burning cinders glowing a bright red as she inhaled. The two just watched each other for a moment, before Roach felt the burning pain of the cigar concentrated around his left hip bone. It carried on this way, Lylith asking questions and Roach refusing to answer them, before the dark haired woman tired of using the cigar.

Lylith stood making her way to a pile of what Roach decided were his things. She looked through the stuff and Roach stiffened when she pulled out his custom made folding knife. He watched as she flipped it open admiring the the sharpened edge of its blade. He'd never actually _used _it before and now it seemed like the crazed woman was focused on testing it out on him.

Instead of taking a seat at the chair she previously occupied, Lylith climbed atop Roach and straddled his waist, casually grinding her hips against his. Roach did admit that the woman was attractive, but there was no way he could get aroused by someone he deemed was responsible for the death of his friends. She didn't seem to mind as she leaned forward so their faces were mere inches apart. The rough material of her outfit brushed across his burns and Roach clenched his teeth in pain; something she seemed to notice as she pressed herself harder against him.

"Want to talk yet?" she whispered as her lips turned up in a smile. Roach glared at her, which only seemed to amuse her further. "Have it your way." With the flick of her hand she once again opened the blade and she held it between the sergeant's eyes. "What's your name?"

Roach ignored the question and the excruciating pain of the blade digging into his skin was almost instantaneous. She applied more pressure to the knife as she ran it down over the bridge of his nose and under his left eye.

"GARY!" He screamed unable to take pain as she dug the thumb of her other hand into one of the burns on his side.

"See that wasn't so difficult," she said simply as she pulled away. "It'll all be over soon." The words came out almost lovingly.

Even if she was no longer cutting into him, the pain wouldn't stop and neither would his screams. There was a soft click of his knife before she thrust her fist against his throat, then all was silent.


	4. Trained for This

**A/N:** Archer's scene was inspired by _MissPumpkinHead_. I'm sorry!

**To Anon:** I usually do 'review replies' but considering you're anonymous and I have no other way to contact you… Just know that I appreciate you! And the time you take to leave a review. I'm glad you're enjoying the story and that it somehow cheered you up!

**WARNING! **This chapter contains _graphic _descriptions of character torture. Just covering my bases in case you missed the earlier warnings.

* * *

"How are my lovely visitors?" A female voice announced as the door to the room beeped open and a woman, with two unarmed men by her side, entered. Ghost attempted to remain calm when he noticed her clothes were drenched in blood.

"You have some shitty hospitality," Ozone replied.

One of the guards moved close enough to Ghost's cell that the lieutenant could easily take him out, but he knew that the woman wouldn't bat an eyelash at needing to kill one of her own men. Ghost wasn't so willing to do the same; instead he bided his time waiting for the moment when he could get that damn woman in his grasp. He briefly wondered if the lack of guns on either of the guards was a blessing or a detriment to his plan.

"Where are the rest of my men?" he asked calmly.

"So they're _your _men now?" The woman responded as she pulled down her surgical mask. She smiled as her eyes roamed Ghost's body. "Quite a mask you got there. Got something to hide?" When they'd stripped him of his gear the guards had taken his sunglasses, but allowed him to keep the balaclava.

"What do you want with us?"

"You're special ops of some sort, yes? CIA, GSG 9, SAS…"

Ghost remained silent. The woman obviously had some information on them, but there was something in particular she was trying to get them to say. As if knowing Ghost wouldn't be the one to spill the information she wanted, she shifted her attention to Archer and unlocked the door to his cell before moving away for a guard to take the sniper.

As one of the men entered the opened cell, Ghost gave the sniper a look that said everything. Quietly discarding the already unlocked handcuffs, Ghost thrust his arms between the bars of his cell, snapping the guard's neck in one quick move. Almost simultaneously Archer's own guard was dead on the floor.

Then just as quickly, Archer jumped on the woman and they fell to the floor, her beneath him and one of his hands wrapped around her neck, the other patting her down for the keys to the cells.

"Where are my friends?" Archer growled as he tightened his hold. She squirmed beneath him attempting to get free and she scratched at his face with her nails.

"ARCHER!"

The warning from Ozone came too late as the woman stabbed a needle into the sniper's thigh and quickly emptied the contents of the syringe. He was one step away from snapping her neck before he was pulled off his captive and thrown back into his cell, the barrel of a riot shotgun a foot from his face.

Both Ghost and Ozone were receiving the same treatment while another guard helped the woman up. She was coughing and gasping for breath but to his disappointment she otherwise looked fine.

"Bring him," she gasped, glaring at Archer. "And stick that one in the test room," she continued, motioning to Ozone.

"What about him?" a guard asked his gun still trained on Ghost.

"He can wait here and listen to his men die."

Lylith ignored the masked man's yells as the door shut behind her. She pointed down a hallway and two of her men dragged along with their Canadian accented prisoner. The man looked unafraid as he spared a glance at his friend before he was sent off to the testing room.

'Archer' as his friend had called him was beginning to experience the symptoms of the injection as he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor. He also appeared unable to stand on his own; Lylith only hoped he didn't die just yet. But now she had plans with a more mysterious Brit.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Doc had managed to calm Roach enough that his breathing wasn't too troublesome, but the pained look on Gary's face refused to change. Doc wasn't too worried about the slash across his friend's face as facial wounds always bled more than injury inflicted elsewhere. It didn't look too good and it needed to be stitched up, but the burns were his primary problem. They were likely to get infected and from Roach's expression they were still excruciatingly painful.

"What happened?"

Roach made a motion of smoking then grimaced as he pointed to several of his burn marks. He then made a motion of flicking something open and placed the invisible object in one hand before forming a fist and holding it against his neck. Doc nodded, running the information through his head. From what he could tell there was no damage to the recurrent laryngeal nerve as Roach was still capable of speech, but it had become a strain on Roach when the man did speak.

"Vocal cord paralysis. And since you seem to have trouble breathing I would say _both _of your vocal cords are damaged. As if you weren't special enough."

Roach gave him a small smile. He then knitted his eyebrows and nodded in Doc's direction as if asking what happened to him.

"You don't want to know." Roach insisted, so the medic lifted his shirt revealing fresh stitches stretched across the expanse of his stomach. "She insisted I see what my insides look like and then she let me patch myself up." He paused as the screams resurfaced. "She did the same to someone else. Can't say that little girl made it."

"Why you?" Roach winced at the act of speaking.

Doc sighed. Lylith had made it a point to see how he reacted to seeing someone be tortured even if it was someone he didn't know. Also, by giving him access to medical supplies she gauged just how good of a medic he actually was. "I'm guessing she wants me to keep you alive so she can torture you some more. Or keep you alive as she tortures you."

Roach stared ahead, his face blank.

"Heh, I don't know what to do Gary. I can't let you or the others die, but fuck, I can't handle it. And you know Shepherd doesn't give a shit about what happens to us. We're already dead to him as far as we're concerned."

Doc looked over at Roach, the blank expression on his face turning to one of resolve. The sergeant's face contorted in pain and his voice came out breathy, but his words put a small smile on the medic's face.

"I want to see the captain again."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ghost couldn't help but get some satisfaction at the bruises that were forming on Lylith's neck from where Archer had grabbed her. He was only disappointed that the sniper hadn't been able to finish the job or that Ghost hadn't done it himself.

"How are you?" Her voice was sweet, but the look in her eyes contradicted any pleasantries her tone implied.

"Why don't you just kill me? You know I won't talk," Ghost muttered. He feigned disinterest as his captor laid out several medical instruments.

"Unfortunately, I had to move onto you as your friends are otherwise occupied and that cute one is incapable of speaking." She let the statement hang in the air and Ghost fisted his hands in anger, but was unable to move due to his restraints. "Oh, he's not dead. Not yet anyway." She thought a moment. "Gary… was it?"

"Fuck you."

"Such a popular phrase these days. And your friend was rather… _good_." It was an obvious bluff, but it still pissed Ghost off to hear it. She laughed. "You're rather expressive with those eyes of yours." He could only sit there as she pulled off his balaclava, revealing the face of a man he saw as dead. Unconcerned, she tossed the garment off to the side and resumed talking. "Unfortunately '_Gary' _was the only thing I managed to get out of him before he passed out. He wouldn't even give me a last name."

Ghost knew she was mocking them. The members of the One-Four-One didn't exist as people; they were merely soldiers designated by their respective call signs. As a result they weren't bound by the laws of the Geneva Convention, which also meant they received no protection from the rules of war established.

Lylith picked up a scalpel, examining it with a critical eye. "I'm honestly not interested in any information you might have locked up in that head of yours. But by your accent I know you're not American like your friend. So now I'm a little curious." Ghost remained silent letting the crazed 'doctor' continue her monologue as he took in his surroundings. "I'm more interested in your… body," she stated softly, barely a whisper in his ear. "Because you're _trained _for this..." Ghost stifled a scream as a sharp pain ran through his arm. She held the scalpel against him, twisting its blade in the wound he'd received right before they'd been captured.

Ghost gritted his teeth as more pressure was applied to the medical instrument in his arm. He glared at her, attempting to ignore the pain by focusing on his anger. It was nothing compared to what he'd gone through before, but that didn't stop it from hurting. "And where are you from? Or are you just Makarov's whore?" He wasn't sure she was the one running the show but the intel they'd received on connections to Makarov were proving shady at best.

"I wonder…" As if bored, she moved away from him to her table, leaving the scalpel in her captive's arm. She held a needle and syringe to the light, flicking it lightly to rid the solution of any air bubbles. Ghost watched her work, keeping his face neutral. "I've come to the understanding that you know a certain _John MacTavish_," she stated sticking the needle in his arm.

"Never heard of him."

"I have sources saying you have." A pinch ran through his arm as she injected the solution. "And one, Vladimir Makarov, is looking for him." Either Lylith was working for Makarov or she was going to sell the information to him when she got it. Whatever she had injected into him was working fast and Ghost couldn't bring himself to think anymore. "I'll be back," she finished, placing a kiss on his lips.

Ghost wasn't sure if he responded as his vision went black.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Wasn't he the lucky one?_ Archer thought as Lylith entered the room. He would've killed her a thousand times over if he could get his body to actually move.

"Tetrodotoxin, ever heard of it?"

A mere grunt was all Archer could manage. He couldn't move his head, let alone his mouth. The word sounded familiar, but a severe headache and the fact that his body felt incredibly weak made it difficult to concentrate. Archer wasn't used to being in such a vulnerable position. Being a sniper was different from anything else in that he chose the exact time his target died. This lack of control was unnerving.

"It's been two hours." She studied him as if diagnosing his symptoms. "Death usually occurs within four to six hours. But if you live past the first twenty-four, then you should make it. If not, then… that's rather unfortunate."

Lylith pulled off her bloodied gloves tossing them in the trash before pulling on a new pair. The sniper didn't really think it mattered at this point whether she practiced proper medical procedure.

"I'm guessing you're a sniper since you didn't seem to be carrying much more than your rifle. Who's your spotter?" She looked disappointed when he didn't respond. "Oh well, can't do anything about it now." That seemed to cheer her up and she picked up a tactical knife, Archer recognized. It was the standard issue they all carried.

In one swift move she stabbed it into his thigh so it was buried to the hilt. Archer grunted in pain, but there was nothing he could do as the neurotoxin continued spreading throughout his system.

"What's the most important part of a soldier?" She picked up a scalpel holding it over his index finger. ""His trigger finger?" The blade rested on his digit and for the moment she just let it be. "That used to be enough to keep you from being drafted."

Archer braced himself for the pain that was sure to follow, but she smiled and placed the scalpel back on the tray.

"Sometimes the best torture revolves around the anticipation. I'm sure you've seen pretty horrible things in your life." Lylith stood, moving toward a drawer she then proceeded to look through. "I'm sure your thoughts of what I could do to you are limitless."

Archer felt his blood run cold when she pulled out an instrument that left little to the imagination of what it was used for. It was a speculum. And judging by its small size he knew she wasn't going to give him a fucking prostate exam.

Struggling was useless as a speculum held each of his eyes open. "I would say the most important thing for _you... _are your eyes." She picked up her scalpel once again and held it over his face. Resigned to his fate, he let out a breath as the blade sank into his eye.


	5. Sounds Kinky

**A/N: **A little late, but just thought I'd note that Lylith Bathory is a character created by me.

* * *

"I lied. I'm not a doctor."

"I noticed that when you seemed to do more killing than healing."

"I could say the same about you."

Doc stiffened, the remark hitting a little too close to home. He knew killing an armed soldier was nothing like what she was doing, but he'd probably taken as many lives as he'd saved. It was a duality in his life that he'd come to terms with, but that didn't stop her statement from stinging. For every little bit of pain she inflicted, a seemingly innocent comment was made as well. Lylith made the remarks so offhandedly that they sounded as if she merely stated whatever came to mind. But Doc knew she wasn't as frivolous as that, she was trying to get under his skin.

"Struck a nerve, did I?" Her laugh once again filled the air. "I'll be nice and say that you have saved lives, something I've honestly never done. I'm more of a scientist. The extent of my knowledge on the human body is how chemicals can affect it. What to use so I can reduce your body to a convulsing mess, suffocating on your own vomit."

"That's just lovely," Doc responded sarcastically.

She kneeled in front of him, her breath warm on his stomach. "Though I bet you could teach me a thing or two about _anatomy_." She remained motionless, except for her steady breathing until Doc looked down at her and she licked her lips, running her tongue across his stitches. Doc couldn't help but wince in pain as she grazed her teeth over them, slightly tugging at the threads keeping his insides in place. She moved up his body so her face hovered mere inches from his as she rested a hand on either of his thighs. A small grin appeared on her face as she awaited a response.

Doc returned the smile thinking of all the ways he could kill her. "If you untie me, I'd be willing to teach you a lot of things."

Her smile turned genuine, as though Doc's words didn't hold another meaning. "I don't doubt that you would," she laughed and unsheathed his knife, casually slashing it through the air. "But first I think there's someone else you liked to attend to. You'll be free to use this room as you please, just remember that the lives of your other friends are still in my hands." The knife was placed on his lap, but with his arms and legs tied down it was rather useless to him.

"New necklace?"

Lylith ran a hand over the bruises on her neck, but said nothing about them. "If you'll excuse me, I have someone else _I _need to attend to."

Doc watched as she left, her walk very much fabricated to emphasize her curves. If only he could have his way with her, then she'd feel pain like nothing she could ever imagine; and with everything he'd gone through he knew she could imagine quite a lot.

The door she just left through opened again and for a moment Doc thought Lylith was back to harass him until he was met with Ghost's signature red tinted sunglasses instead. He was in for another surprise when in place of reddish rust colored hair was a head of sandy brown and instead of his CO's muscular build was a more lithe body type. What immediately stuck out as the most unexpected was a knife buried in the man's right thigh.

A guard pushed the man forward and he tried to catch himself on something but he fell to the floor gracelessly, the door closing shut behind him. He grunted in pain and more blood soaked his pant leg. Doc watched as his visitor tried to stand, but the man looked awkward as if unused to his limbs, his long arms reaching out around him once he managed to right himself.

"I'm surprised you haven't died from the blood loss."

"Doc?"

"Yeah. It's me."

Archer paused and looked like he was going to throw up, but the wave passed and he reached his arms out again feeling around for obstacles as he continued his drunken walk. He was obviously favoring his uninjured leg, which merely added to his instability. "Where are you?"

Doc didn't think he'd ever seen the Brit so lost and unsure, but then the question registered and he looked at the sniper wondering if the question was serious. "I'm sitting right in front of you."

"How long has it been since we've been here?" Archer asked. His head was lowered and he tilted it down slightly as if listening closely to the things around him. However, Archer stumbled and fell to his knees the sunglasses falling from his face. He tilted his head up and Doc was at a loss for words. There was none of that dramatic empty black hole, bleeding eyes Hollywood shit, but to a medic like Doc, seeing the sunken shape of Archer's mostly closed eyelids and pink instead of milky white was enough to shock him. "I guess I've looked better huh? Not that I'll ever see anything again," Archer muttered as he tried to stand again after putting on Ghost's sunglasses. It was more of a self-conscious act on Archer's part than a concern for how Doc felt about it.

"If you cut me out of these ropes, I can see if you're not beyond repair."

"And how the bloody hell do you expect me to do that?"

"You're blind, not useless."

The sniper lifted two fingers in a V-shape, its meaning not lost on Doc who'd spent enough time around Brits, particularly Archer who earned his callsign from his constant use of the 'two-fingered salute'.

"You put your tongue between that and maybe our whore of a captor will take you up on the offer. And said whore left my knife on my lap. _On_ not _in_ like she seemed to have done with you."

"So where is it?" The sniper muttered, apparently ignoring Doc's comment. He leaned over, one hand searching out and landing on Doc's head.

"That's my head, it's on my lap." He waited patiently and Archer moved his hand down, stopping when it traced over Doc's stitches. "It's nothing serious."

"You're not bollock naked right?"

"Have my boxers on." Doc assured him, but he tensed as Archer's hand moved lower. "Yeah, that's not my knife…"

"Sorry," Archer muttered finally taking hold of the tactical knife.

It was a slow process, but once Archer managed to cut through the ropes binding one of Doc's arms the medic was able to do the rest himself. Doc led Archer to one of the dental chairs, putting it into a reclined position. Lylith had taken all of his gear and weapons, but his clothes remained on the counter in a messy pile. He pulled on his pants and decided to go without the shirt so he could examine his stitches after he evaluated Archer's condition.

There was an assortment of medical supplies around, even scalpels and several other potential weapons but Doc wasn't going to question the generosity until after he ascertained the damage done to his teammate. He put a stethoscope around his neck and turned when he heard several objects fall to the floor and some sort of rattling.

"Fuck!" Doc rushed to Archer's side, doing his best to get the sniper on the floor away from anything as the man's body convulsed. He turned Archer onto his side just as the Brit vomited and it was followed by a series of dry heaves; his body tried to expel something it didn't have. Doc looked to the man's injured leg, more blood gushing out with each muscle contraction.

The convulsions soon subsided and Doc grabbed a towel pressing it firmly around the knife sticking out of Archer's leg. He cursed as the towel was quickly soaked through with blood. "Hold this," the medic ordered, moving the hand on the towel for emphasis. Archer did so and Doc unbuttoned and unzipped the sniper's pants, pushing them down slightly so he could quickly find the femoral artery to help stop the bleeding. "Put your fingers where mine are," Doc instructed. "And you need to hold it against the bone."

"Do you usually make your patients do this much work?" Archer muttered following Doc's orders.

"You could always make it easier on me and die," Doc retorted as he got another towel, pressing it atop the blood soaked one. "I'm surprised you haven't died from the blood loss." Doc stated again keeping a constant pressure on Archer's leg. He left the sniper with the job of pressing down on the appropriate blood vessel.

"_If I had it my way, I'd slit your throat with the knife that you left in my back. All this shame, all this guilt, all this regret, that's me. I'm inside of you_."

"Sounds kinky. Delirious from blood loss?"

"Just passing the time until I either bleed out or stop bleeding. I had an ex who was into some metal band from Yorkshire." Archer laughed, the sound creating an unreasonably calming effect on the medic's frayed nerves. It gave Doc a sense of normalcy in a situation that was currently FUBAR. "What's wrong?" Archer asked after Doc remained silent.

"Just loving that sexy accent of yours."

"Piss off." The sniper grunted in pain as Doc lifted the towels, pleased to discover the bleeding had stopped. "The knife?"

"Maybe you'll need it later," Doc replied deadpan. He put a hand to Archer's forehead feeling the man's temperature. It wasn't unusually hot, but he ran a towel under some cold water and filled a glass as well, placing the wet cloth on the Brit's forehead. Archer picked up the damp towel squeezing some of the excess water into his mouth.

Doc nudged the man with the glass in his hand. "Most people use a cup when they want to drink."

"Most people can see when someone brings them said cup," Archer muttered before quickly finishing the water.

Doc said nothing, merely getting the man another glass, which the sniper accepted gratefully. "I'm going to check your heart," the medic stated putting the ear pieces of the stethoscope into his ears. He held the diaphragm against Archer's chest and listened for a steady heart beat, but a slow, irregular beat sounded in his ears instead. It wasn't cause for alarm, but still worrisome.

"Did she administer any electric shocks to your body?"

"Don't go giving her ideas," Archer muttered.

"Like she hadn't thought of it yet."

"She injected me with something. Textro-something toxin fucking shite."

Doc ran the word through the list of notable neurotoxins in his brain, going through terms and symptoms. "Tetrodoxtoxin?"

"Aye, that's it."

"And you're still alive?"

"You keep asking me that. Do you _want_ me to die?"

"And you seem to be taking your lack of sight rather well."

"I feel like I'm already in hell. What do you say Doc?"

Despite the situation, Doc laughed. "I'm right there with you."

* * *

**A/N: **Hopefully I didn't bore anyone with the medical/technical stuff. And I know this story is rather serious, but I felt the humor was appropriate as it shows they haven't broken nor have they given up.

The song Archer was singing is "Sleep with One Eye Open" by Bring Me the Horizon, a band I never heard of prior to writing this chapter. I came across them through lyrics, the fact that the band is British was a coincidence.


	6. Not Quite

**A/N: **So much for my weekly updates. For one thing I'm was still conflicted with how I want certain events to proceed, though I do have parts of the ending written out already. I'm excited! Haha. I'm not too happy with this chapter, but I suppose that's because it's the "calm before the storm" as the cliché goes.

* * *

Ozone wiped his mouth with the back of his glove, having thrown up for a third time. His body felt weak from lack of sleep and dehydrated from emptying his stomach so many times. He wasn't sure how long he'd been trapped in the 'test room' nor what gases the room kept filling with. For the most part he wasn't even aware that there was something dangerous in the room until his eyes were burning, or his lungs, or his skin, or some other part on his body he wasn't aware could feel a burning sensation and he was throwing up again.

Ozone only knew that something was probably going to happen because someone in a MOPP suit, or was it an NBC suit… a Hazmat suit? _What was he thinking about? _All he remembered were the shots, a long needle piercing his skin.

He bit his lip attempting to clear his head from the fuzziness in his brain that arose from his stay in the test room. Whatever chemicals they were releasing into the room were relatively harmless as he suffered no lasting effects such as burns or even blisters. Then he remembered that there were some chemical agents that took awhile to "kick in" to put it lamely.

For a moment he thought it was incredibly ironic that his callsign was 'Ozone' and he was the one stuck with the poisonous chemicals. The world just loves destroying the ozone layer.

The door to the room slid open and two men dressed in MOPP suits walked in, each carrying a riot shotgun, which were soon aimed at him. Another person wearing a simple Hazmat suit followed with a needle and syringe in one hand.

"Atropine?" Ozone guessed. It was a logical deduction as it seemed like they were testing how much his body could take before it gave up and died. He was sure it was that or pralidoxime that he'd been injected with each time they came. The person said nothing and Ozone backed up slightly as his personal space was invaded. At this range there was no way those shotguns were going to miss and Ozone didn't quite feel like dying yet.

"Not quite," a feminine voice muttered as she slapped two fingers on his arm looking for a vein.

Ozone felt an odd sensation a few seconds after the solution entered his system. He could only describe it as the fastest and most intense rush he had ever felt. "What is it?" he asked dreamily.

"Something I made myself," she replied amusedly. "But if it helps I got a few ideas from diacetylmorphine."

Aside from the dryness his mouth started to experience and a warm flushing of his skin, Ozone didn't think he had ever felt such euphoria. "Wait… diacetylmorphine." He paused. "You shot me up with heroin?"

Lylith laughed as the light bulb in his head clicked on. "Not quite."  
~~~~~~~~~

Ghost awoke to the feeling of a feathery light touch across his chest. He opened his eyes slowly, Lylith the first thing to meet his gaze. He decided that _thing_ was the most appropriate word to describe her. Ghost may not have been any more innocent himself, but he didn't take _pleasure_ in torturing and even if he did he never took it to the degree this crazed woman did.

"This is nothing new to you." Lylith wasn't looking at him, but rather at a particularly large scar across his side. He didn't need to look to know which scar it was. The memory was deeply ingrained into his brain. "All your men have scars of their own, but nothing to this degree." She almost sounded sympathetic as she said it. Despite her soft touch, Ghost flinched as she moved her fingers from one scar to another. "What happened?"

"What do you want with us?"

"It's always business with you, isn't it?" Lylith sighed walking over to the sink. She turned on the faucet filling a large bucket with water.

Ghost took the opportunity to take in his surroundings as they had moved him from the room he'd been in when she knocked him out. He had to admit he rather missed the previous chair he'd been strapped into because now he was chained down to little more than a flat metal panel. He noted with some unease that he was on a slanted surface, with his head inclined downwards.

The sound of running water ceased and Lylith was by his side again, the bucket of water placed on the table next to her. "I'm sure you know what I'm going to do now."

"You lack creativity."

Lylith laughed amusedly. "I suppose so. But I was thinking that maybe if you drowned, I could give you CPR." She picked up the bucket, but instead of pouring it directly over his head like he thought she would, Lylith flung the contents forward effectively covering his entire body with water. "Surprise!" she exclaimed as she stood over him some of her hair falling over his face.

If she were any closer he would've head butted her, but he settled with spitting in her face. Lylith immediately backed away wiping her face on one sleeve.

"At least I finally got a rise out of you," she muttered apparently no longer amused. "You make things so difficult."

Ghost stared at the ceiling not bothering to watch what she was doing. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing he was concerned with what she planned to do next.

She walked back over, his knife in one hand and her other tracing the long scar across his side once again. "I wonder if it'll bring back any memories," she muttered offhandedly. Lylith then looked at him holding the knife over his scar. "You may close off the memories of what happened to you in the past, but your body will always remember."

Ghost clenched his teeth holding back a scream as she plunged the knife into his side, the memories the scar held resurfacing in his mind. He closed his eyes attempting to calm his breathing and push away the thoughts. When he opened his eyes again Lylith was watching him, an intrigued expression of her face.

"You're really on a different level aren't you?" She smiled and then opened a drawer, pulling on thick rubber gloves. "You know... under dry conditions, the human body's resistance may be as high as 100,000 Ohms. But with wet or broken skin like yours, it can drop to as little as 1,000 Ohms."

"You'll never break me."

Lylith laughed, apparently delighted with his answer. "I have no intention to."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roach wasn't sure how long he'd been in captivity. There were no windows around nor any sort of time piece so his brain was easily losing track of the days. The anxiety of sitting around waiting for something to happen or to hear that another one of his friends had been killed was eating him inside. The anticipation and the constant waiting seemed to had made time move slower. His internal clock had been shot the moment he'd suffered that concussion.

Doc had been taken away a few hours ago. Or had it been days? Weeks?

Roach pressed a finger into one of his healing burns, a pained noise making its way past his throat. While the burns were still excruciating painful, the hurt was a reminder he was still alive. It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but he figured it was better than going crazy with his solitary confinement.

He was no longer cuffed and Lylith had let Doc cater to his injuries before she'd taken the medic away to god knew where. There was a nice row of stitches down and across his face and he had a tube of Silvadene for his burns. His current situation felt so surreal compared to what he'd only experienced a few days ago. Hours?

"How are you doing?" A voice sounded from a hidden speaker.

_Fuck_, Roach mouthed silently. Talking wasn't his favorite thing to do lately.

"I thought you'd like to see your masked friend again," the voice continued.

Roach looked over as the door to his room opened and two guards walked in. Roach didn't fight back as they cuffed him and led him away. If they were taking him to see Riley, he was all for it. He just hoped the his commanding officer wasn't… dead.

"Roach!"

The sergeant looked over at the sound of his name and saw Ghost strapped down to a giant metal panel with Lylith hovering over him. He tried to get to Ghost, but his guard apparently had other ideas and landed a solid punch in his gut. Roach bowed forward as he struggled to breathe.

"I told you he was fine," Lylith whispered.

"Fuck you!" Ghost yelled at her. "Roach, are you okay?"

Roach felt his eyes water as the damage to his vocal chords was making it even more difficult for him to catch his breath. He felt himself being strapped down into a chair and Ghost's concerned yells seemed so far away.

* * *

**A/N: **Horrible cliffhangers once again. Sorry! Maybe three or four chapters left in this story. As always, thanks everyone for reading and reviewing!

**To Anon:** Glad to hear from you again. I've grown particularly attached to both Archer and Doc, so I'm delighted to hear you're loving their characters. As for Lylith, it's reassuring to know you hate her for the right reasons. Haha. She's incredibly fun to write, but I have to admit I do share your sentiments. And Ozone, Roach and Ghost got some screen time again, which of course is usually unfortunate in this story. There probably is another captain on the 141, but I'm sure MacTavish feels like it's his responsibility and would want to be the one to save them. Though you're just going to have to keep reading to see what happens!


	7. It'll Be Okay

**A/N: **Isn't it lovely how no matter how many times you proofread a chapter you always find something wrong with it after you post it?

**Warning: **As always, rated for language but some ethnic slurs/slang in this chapter. (Not necessarily derogatory.) And yes, more torture and all that good stuff. I don't know what goes on in my head. How extensive is your imagination?

* * *

MacTavish leaned back against the wall trying to catch his breath as Royce evaluated his performance. He took a long drink from his water bottle and tossed it onto the table after he'd finished it.

"Twenty-three seconds," Royce muttered looking at the stopwatch. "Not your usual amount of headshots either."

"All dead?"

Royce scanned the training course, checking each bullet's point of entry. "Yeah, all kill shots."

"That's all that matters. Dying from a chest wound is no better than dying from a headshot. Dead is dead." Soap shook the screams from his head as they resurfaced. "And both are probably better than what Roach is going through," he muttered under his breath. A sudden pain shot up his side and MacTavish felt like his stitches were about to come loose.

"You okay? Should I call Preacher?" Royce asked, his voice laced with worry.

"I'm fine." John pushed off the wall, standing on his own strength.

"You shouldn't even be walking in your condition. I saw the piece of shrapnel Doc extracted from your side. You could've gone surfing on that thing."

MacTavish gritted his teeth remembering the last thing he heard from the team's top medic.

"They're tough guys, captain. They'll make it," Royce said, his voice not as confident as his words. "Hey, where are you going?"

"To have a little talk with Shepherd."

The general was in his office, his attention on the paperwork in front of him. He signed his name at the bottom of one page before he turned his attention to MacTavish. "Can I do something for you Captain?"

"It's been two weeks."

"Which means they're probably dead," the general stated bluntly.

Soap clenched his jaw holding back his anger. Even if Shepherd didn't care about his men as much as he should've, MacTavish still respected him and the man did outrank him. "You don't know that," he growled.

"I didn't realize you were so sentimental, MacTavish."

"You know as well as I do that those men are the best at what they do." Soap waited impatiently as Shepherd went over the pros and cons of sending out another team so soon.

The general's face remained blank as he seemed to come to a conclusion. "I also know that you're the only capable captain currently on base _and _you're still injured." He paused, still running the information through his head. "If you get caught, no one will be coming after you," Shepherd continued cryptically.

Soap knew an unofficial order when he heard one.

"Dismissed."  
~~~~~~~~~

Roach sighed, all his efforts of struggling against his bindings proved useless. He stared at the ceiling, not wanting to see where Ghost lie, passed out, still strapped to the metal panel. It made him sick to remember what Lylith had done to his friend while he was forced to watch.

"I'm sorry Riley." The words came out as a whisper.

A light chuckle followed by a groan caught Roach's attention and he turned towards Ghost. "What are _you _apologizing for? And I don't need some lowly sergeant to take care of me." The man gave Roach a small smile, which the sergeant returned. "I should be the one apologizing. I told MacTavish I'd take care of you." He paused taking in their current situation. "Might've fucked that up."

'_You okay?'_ Roach mouthed.

"I've obviously been better, but I'll live," Ghost reassured him. "What about you?"

'_Same as you,'_ Roach replied turning back to the ceiling.

"I can only read lips if I can see your mouth moving."

Roach turned back to his CO, a grin on his face. _'I bet you'd love to see my mouth working.'_

"Well, I won't be loving it for your voice anymore," Ghost joked.

'_You're lucky you didn't die.'_

"Skill, not luck."

'_And now between the two of us, it smells like the Fourth of July_.'

Ghost laughed. "You referring to that war most Americans are deluded into believing they won by themselves?"

'_Redcoat_.'

"Yank."

'_Limey_.'

"Merkin."

'_Tommy_.'

"Doughboy."

Roach paused, trying to think of another term. _'Sassenach._'

Ghost remained silent as if trying to dissect the mouthed word in his head before he laughed again. "Learned that from MacTavish?"

'_You think he's coming?_'

"Shepherd wouldn't be able to stop MacTavish even if the captain was a wanted criminal and the whole world was against him."

'_You sure you're okay?'_ Roach admitted that his CO was strong, but there was only so much a person could take before he cracked. He knew of Ghost's past and wondered how the man could still function given that and what he'd just gone through. Though he had to admit Ghost wasn't the sanest of people. Maybe the lieutenant had already cracked.

"I'll be right back loves," a voice echoed through the room. _Her _voice brought back the image of Lylith and- Roach tried to dispel the picture from his mind, but it was burned clearly into his thoughts.

"Gary," Ghost said gently bringing him back. "It'll be okay."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Comfy?" Lylith asked as she secured the last strap around Doc's leg.

It had been a few days since he'd last seen Archer and Doc honestly had no clue where the others were, let alone if they were still alive. He wasn't too worried about Ghost if rumors of what the lieutenant had gone through before joining the 141 were anything to go by. As for Roach, he hadn't had any contact with the sergeant since they'd brought him to his current room to patch up Archer.

"You miss your other friend?" Lylith remarked as if reading his mind. She checked the straps securing each of his limbs before stepping back to view her handiwork.

Doc couldn't say he _missed_ Ozone, but he was the only one the medic hadn't seen since they'd jumped from the Pave Low.

"I'm almost sorry to tell you that he's not in the best of conditions at the moment."

Doc decided to play her game. "So where is he?"

"I last stuck him in the test room, but he had a rather… violent reaction to the drug I gave him. Not to mention the other gases I pumped him full of. Those _cures_ of sorts only work so well," she smiled like a child bursting with a desire to tell someone a secret.

Doc remained silent already tired of her 'ask me what I did' game.

"Come on," she pouted. "I know you want to ask." Lylith ran her hand down his bare chest digging her nails into each of the fresh cuts that marred his body.

Doc grimaced. "Fine. I'll play, but only if you do something for me."

Lylith looked intrigued as she licked some blood off of her finger. "And what does my little medic want in return?"

He wasn't so naïve as to think she'd answer anything other than what her world revolved around. "What's the point of all this?"

"I want John MacTavish," she purred as she licked he lips. "I don't know who he's working for now, but I do know _you're _working for _him_." That smile was once again plastered on her face. "Are you jealous?"

"Whore."

Lylith laughed. "And as I told you, I'm more of a scientist. Who better to experiment on than soldiers of your caliber?" A sudden slam against the wall from outside startled Lylith and she turned around cautiously, while Doc casually glanced in the direction of the sound. She glanced back at him, giving him a quick kiss on the lips and then hurried out of the room.

Doc spit as best he could in his position, an odd but familiar taste in his mouth. It tasted like… "She's going to give me a fucking disease," he mumbled. "And what the hell was that!" Doc yelled at the door. There were more noises outside his room, but Doc stiffened when he heard a scream then a crash followed by a sickening crack. "What the hell is going on out there?" The signature beep of the door unlocking sounded and the door slid open.

It was silent for a moment before a soft crazed laughter echoed throughout the room and Doc watched as a man walked in, dressed in a uniform the medic was more than familiar with wearing. The only difference was the soldier's uniform was covered with blood. The man looked up, dried blood trailed down his nose and fresh blood still flowed from the corner his mouth.

"What the hell happened to you?" Doc questioned, his mind already evaluating his friend's condition despite his own predicament.

Ozone twitched jerkily in response as if not in control of his body and his eyes narrowed because of the bright fluorescent lights shining overhead.

"Ozone?" Doc stiffened at the look in the man's eyes, they were bloodshot and deranged. He pulled at his restraints, but that bitch had done a decent job in making sure he'd stay put.

As if possessed, Ozone brought a hand to his face and dug his fingers around his right eye until they were buried to the second knuckle in his eye socket. With a yell he jerked his arm back taking his eyeball with it. He stared at it with his remaining eye before squeezing the detached organ between his fingers.

"What. The. Fuck."

Ozone let at a cackle before he rushed toward the restrained man and jumped atop him so he was straddling his waist. The man beneath him cried out in pain and at the annoying scream Ozone dug his teeth into his lip, drawing blood. He dug his nails into his palms, his fist then connecting with the man's face, satisfied at the sickening crack that sounded with the contact.

The American beneath him cursed and struggled to get Ozone off, but at the sight of blood he threw another punch. The restrained man seemed dazed with the hit and Ozone pounded his fists into the man's face until the struggling ceased and his captive's body went limp, dead.

An agonizing burn exploded in his chest and Ozone gagged, blood spewing from his mouth. Suddenly dizzy and unable to maintain his balance atop his victim, Ozone fell to the floor and his head slammed hard against the concrete before he gagged again, suffocating on his vomit. He turned onto his side and spotted a knife on the floor. The pain continued so he stabbed the blade into his chest in an attempt to cut the hurt away. He smiled as the world disappeared.


	8. I Can't Hear You

**A/N: **I decided to split this chapter into two parts considering how long it was getting and it honestly does work better for the story that way. The next part will be up in less than a week since I only need to write the opening scene. (I never write in the order a chapter is read). The next chapter will also be the last, followed by a short epilogue. All questions should be answered with this chapter and the next, but feel free to ask about something in the chance I missed a plot point. Some things I may not answer because I want them to remain open ended and up to interpretation.

The _only_ character I own is Lylith Bathory (and I guess those random guards who appear and die every so often). I enjoy bringing in random Task Force members no one ever really remembers, so don't be surprised when random nouns pop into the story.

Review Replies:

**To jane**: Thanks for reading!

**To Anon: **A review's a review, it doesn't matter to me when you take the time to leave one. :D And I litter my own stories with F-bombs, so feel free to use profanity if you really want to, doesn't bother me. As for your questions, some of them will be answered in this chapter, the rest I've already addressed in the next. But if there are still things you're curious about, ask away.

**To xStealthxSniperx: **Even if I didn't have a love for slash, (straight) guys make some of the most homoerotic comments to each other. Hope you enjoy this chapter too.

* * *

"I have a little surprise for you!" Lylith announced as she typed away on her laptop. Roach shared a glance with Ghost, both men still strapped down to the same chair and metal panel respectively. Anything Lylith had planned for them was never a good thing or something the men looked forward to experiencing. She pressed one final button before an image opened and she placed her laptop on a table so that both her captives could see it.

"Doc!" Roach wheezed. In the picture, his friend was strapped down in a chair, not unlike his own.

"Doc, huh? Not a very creative call sign," Lylith assessed as she pressed another button, revealing that the image was actually a video.

Roach watched the medic who was focused on something just off-screen. The man's eyes when wide before he cursed and another figure jumped atop him. Doc's assailant briefly glanced up revealing himself to be Ozone, complete with a missing eye and a bloodied face. Roach gazed in horror as Ozone let out a cackle and unleashed a series of punches before the medic's face was nothing more than a mess of shattered bone and blood.

"What the hell did you do to him!" Ghost yelled as he too watched the death of their friend. Roach didn't think he'd ever heard the lieutenant sound so desperate.

Lylith raised an eyebrow at the immediate reaction then laughed. "That's not even the best part."

Roach turned his attention back to the screen where Ozone suddenly stiffened and blood sprayed from his mouth before he fell to the floor, a sickening crack sounding as his head met the concrete. Ozone seemed to be in terrible pain, but a tranquil look appeared on his face as his something caught his interest. The man picked up a knife from off-screen and dug it into his chest, cutting away chunks of his flesh. It was mere moments before the man bled out and died, his remaining eye staring at nothing.

The video ended and Lylith once again picked up her laptop typing away. Roach didn't know what he was supposed to feel as more images of his friends dying embedded themselves into his memory. He'd been a soldier a long time, but he didn't think anything had prepared him for what he witnessed the past few weeks. He'd had training to withstand both physical and psychological torture, but never did he have to watch his friends be murdered in such brutal fashions.

Lylith looked between her two captives as if debating what she really wanted to do with them. She seemed to have made up her mind and she sauntered over to Ghost. "You know… after spending so much time with you, I've come to the conclusion I won't be able to break you. And if I continue trying, I risk the chances of just killing you instead." She looked back at Roach, who was happy for the attention since it meant she'd leave Ghost alone, at least for the time being. "However, that sparked a new idea in my pretty little head."  
~~~~~~~~~~

MacTavish scanned the area through the scope of his rifle, while Klepto acted as his spotter. He pressed a hand to the device in his ear as the soft beep of an incoming transmission sounded.

"Found some bodies here. Four of them. Enemy soldiers. Looks like our snipers' work," Chemo reported. "Judging from the insect activity-"

"And the smell," Jester added.

"And that," Chemo continued, his voice slightly mumbled. "These guys were probably killed right before Ghost's team was captured."

"Copy that," MacTavish answered. "Preacher?" He spotted the medic through his scope bending over something, while Meat and Hacker scanned the area for threats.

Preacher's voice was sullen. "I found a body. One of ours. I think it's Toad."

"He _thinks_?" Klepto asked glancing at MacTavish.

"The top half of his head's been blown off."

It was silent for a moment before Royce's voice came wafting through the radio. "Scarecrow's dead too," he reported, his tone indifferent.

MacTavish cursed in his head. It wouldn't help his men's spirits to let them hear him sound so dejected. "That still leaves Ghost, Roach, Archer, Ozone, and Doc. This _isn't _over."  
~~~~~~~~~~~

"Where's Archer?" Ghost growled.

"Hm… Archer?" Lylith mulled over the name, obviously unfamiliar with which call sign belonged to which of her prisoners. "You referring to the sniper on your team?" She laughed. "I left him in a room with some friends. Or dogs, if you will. A little birdie told me a little story."

Roach's eyes went wide at her revelation of what she'd done with the Brit. During his time with the Task Force, Roach had learned of Archer's unfortunate encounter with a stray dog in his childhood. As a result the sniper was deathly scared of man's supposed best friend. Somehow Lylith had learned Archer's biggest fear and was now using it against him.

"I'm almost touched by your concern for your team, but you should really be worrying about yourselves." Lylith picked up a plain white sheet of paper off the table and tore it in half, especially careful not to crinkle its edges. She held either side of the sheet firmly and hovered above Riley's face. With one quick move, she ran the edge over his cheek just enough to cut and Ghost hissed in pain.

Roach cringed as if feeling the paper cut into his own skin as well. His body suddenly felt overly sensitized, and his nerves tightened, the imagined stinging feel of the thin sheet slicing through his skin in the forefront of his mind. He couldn't help but watch as Lylith gradually moved lower, holding the paper over Riley's nipple and slicing into it as well.

"Stop it!" Roach yelled, causing another coughing fit to overcome him. It didn't help that he hadn't had anything to eat or drink in days.

"This is nothing. Don't worry a-"

Whatever else the lieutenant was going to say was abruptly cut off as Lylith secured a gag ball around his mouth. "I think the look rather suits you." She received a death glare in return.

"You bitch!"

Lylith looked over, amused with Roach's dying voice. "You shouldn't exert yourself so much, Gary."

"Don't fucking call me that!" Roach screamed, his voice cracking.

Bored with the sergeant Lylith ignored him and tapped the red ball trapped between Ghost's lips with one finger. "I think we should move this party a little lower don't you think?" She climbed atop the prone Brit so she straddled his stomach her back to Ghost's face.

From his perspective Roach couldn't see what the crazed woman was doing, but her position on the Brit and the fact she had cut open the man's pants didn't promise anything good. Roach tried to yell again, a mere raspy noise emerging from his throat.

"I told you, you shouldn't overexert yourself," she laughed. The dark haired woman lowered her body and Roach watched helplessly as Ghost's body went rigid before he jerked away in obvious pain, a muffled noise coming from around the object in his mouth. The reaction happened several more times before Lylith climbed off the Brit, the edge of the once clean sheet of paper lined with blood. The paper was soon crumpled up and tossed onto the floor, no longer useful. She sighed. "Too bad I couldn't get all your blood to go… south."

Roach nearly whimpered at the feeling of being so helpless, but restrained the noise to prove he wouldn't be broken so easily. Ghost looked to be in pain, but the hard edge to the expression on his face every time he glowered at their captor never left.

Lylith stuffed her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat, pulled out Roach's folding knife and flicked it open, its blade still stained with its owner's blood. "As I was saying, I no longer have any intention of trying to break you," she beamed as she spoke to Ghost. "But you're going to play a part…" Her lips hovered above the lieutenant's ear, though her eyes were focused on Roach. "…in breaking _him_."

Roach felt his blood run cold as she held the knife to the lieutenant's throat. _'No…'_ The sound came out as a choked gasp.

Lylith only smiled as she dug the point of the blade into Ghost's throat, a trail a blood quickly falling from the wound. The lieutenant grimaced slightly, but otherwise his expression remained calm.

_'Wait!'_

"Sorry, Gary. You're going to have to speak up," she mocked, moving the knife a fraction of an inch.

'_Stop it!'_

The knife moved a little further, dug a little deeper.

_'Stop it! Stop it! Ghost!' _Roach struggled and pulled at his restraints, the bindings digging painfully into his arms and legs. His vision temporarily went black as he banged his head in his thrashing.

"I can't hear you…"

'_STOP IT!' _

Roach watched helplessly as Lylith slashed across Ghost's throat, blood quickly spilling onto the floor. Ghost merely gazed back at him, his eyes telling everything he couldn't say.

_I'm sorry. _

Roach felt something in himself crack as he watched the blood continue to flow, endlessly it seemed. '_Ghost?' _He gazed into the blue eyes that Ghost was always hiding with red tinted glasses. The Brit had hated how the color of his eyes added to his already aristocratic features, making him a fucking god instead of the hard edged soldier he'd trained his life to become. Like a model instead of the mischievous bastard of a leader he'd established himself as.

_This isn't your fault, Gary._

The eyes that now stared back at Roach would never have belonged to a god, because gods didn't die. Ghosts didn't die. Ghost couldn't die. It just... _didn't happen_.

Without his skull mask and sunglasses, Ghost was once again Simon Riley...

...and like he'd always said...

... that man was dead.

An explosion sounded in the distance, but Roach just stared ahead, his spirit as broken as his body.


	9. I'm Sorry

**A/N: **There's really so much I wanted to/did write for this story, but with the additional scenes it felt like the story was just dragging on. Hell, the torture scene that inspired this story never appeared. Maybe one day I'll post the alternate/additional scenes/deaths/endings. This chapter is pretty much the last, but I there will be a short epilogue.

Review Replies:  
**To Anon: **Thank you very much for the praise. And I personally have a love/hate relationship with Lylith. (Though I do fully support your plan to assemble a mob and to do her what you will until everyone is satisfied.) I know I wrote a lot of the death scenes rather vaguely, but this chapter will set everything straight. And it's nice to hear I'm not completely predictable. Poor MacTavish hasn't been up to snuff lately.

**To xStealthxSniperx: **The leading question of Chapter 8: What is Ghost's fate? All is revealed in this chapter! (Pretty much anyway). It's reassuring to know I was able to convey the emotions well. Thanks again for reading. *hands you a tissue*

* * *

"Chemist, set the breaching charge," Royce ordered, situating himself on the opposite side of the man. The blast made his ears ring, nevertheless he turned into the room, his eyes quickly scanning the area before he fired, killing three dogs.

"Is that a child?" Rocket asked as he noticed someone in a small cage, located in the corner of the room. The crazed dogs had seemed intent on tearing apart whoever was inside of it. The caged person was trembling uncontrollably and pressed back against the walled corners of his prison, as if trying to stay as far as he could from the animals.

"Fuck, that's Archer!" Chemist exclaimed quickly holstering his weapon and moving by the cowering sniper. "Archer?" he asked softly. He held out a hand to the sniper and Archer initially flinched at the touch, but soon grasped the hand in one of his own, comforted by the presence of another.

Royce cursed when he got a good glimpse of the Brit. The man had lost at least ten pounds and worst of all, both his eyes were gone.

"Is there a key for this damn thing?" Rocket cursed looking around the room.

"I-it's on the d-d-dogs," Archer stuttered, still pressed back against the corner of his cage. "S-she said I c-could leave if I got the k-key myself. I-I-I… can't see. I couldn't get it."

"It's okay. We're here now," Chemist murmured, squeezing the man's hand gently. "The dogs are gone."

Rocket found the key tied onto the collar of one of the mutts and unlocked Archer's cage, but the sniper took some gentle coaxing before he finally decided it was safe to leave the haven of his cramped prison.

"MacTavish. We found Archer. Alive, but he'll need some medical attention," Royce reported speaking into his radio. He didn't think that now was the best time to fully disclose the sniper's injuries. "Any news on the others?"

The captain's voice came through in a whisper. "Not yet."

"Roger that." Royce looked over at his subordinates who were eyeing him critically.

"You should've told him," Rocket muttered, disagreeing with the decision to not inform MacTavish of what state he may find the others.

Royce gritted his teeth. "What? Rub it in his face that because it took so long for us to come, Archer had to go through all this shit?"

"The others may already be dead."

"And he'll just find out anyway."

"Then you tell him! Tell him how the careless mistake he made on our last assignment put him out of commission! How he was forced to sit around doing nothing while that whore radioed us with what she was doing to Doc and the others!" Royce challenged.

Rocket raised his arms in surrender, signifying he understood Royce's reasoning even if he didn't agree with it. "We _know _it's not his fault. And even if he did lead Ghost's team instead, there's no guarantee they woudn't have gotten caught."

"And you also know that MacTavish isn't thinking that way right now," Royce finished, the conversation over. He looked over at Archer who was still trembling slightly as Chemist administered basic first aid. "You okay, Archer?" It was a stupid question, because obviously the sniper _wasn't_ okay, but it was the only thing Royce could think of to ask him. Besides the lack of nourishment, Archer seemed fine physically; it was his mental health that Royce was most worried about.

"Y-yeah."

"Do you know where the others are?"

The Brit winced as Chemist rebandaged the knife wound on his leg with a clean roll of gauze. "I barely know where _I_ am."

MacTavish's voice once again sounded in Royce's ear. "Chemo's team found Doc and Ozone." He paused. "They're both dead. Ozone's covered in track marks and it looks like he might've been responsible for Doc's death."

"Copy that. What about the Lieutenant and Roach?"

"Hacker's still working on finding them."

"MacTavish?"

"Aye?"

Royce looked at his team, blank expressions on their face. "Nothing."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roach watched disinterestedly as Lylith stumbled slightly, clearly surprised by the distant explosion. She regained her composure and smoothed down her skirt before walking over to a table like nothing had happened.

Lylith held up a small bottle, stuck a large needle into the top, then filled the syringe with the clear liquid. "I think your prince has finally come to save you," she thought aloud. After tapping his arm for a vein, she stuck the needle in, injecting the solution into his body.

There was another explosion, closer this time, followed by the echo of gunshots in the hallway. A guard burst into the room, his body drenched in blood. Lylith swore, her native language finally revealing itself.

"You fucking bitch!" Roach yelled, his words overshadowed by the sound of gunfire. The bloodied guard fell to the floor, dead. The sergeant's vision began to go blurry as Lylith backed away from him and raised her hands up in surrender, a wide smile on her face as John MacTavish entered the room.

MacTavish kept his eyes trained on the woman who still had her hands raised in surrender. The rest of his men flooded the room, but he paid them little heed as he slammed the woman against the wall, securing her hands behind her back with zip cuffs and patting her down for any concealed weapons.

"So rough," she tittered and let him do as he pleased, though she pressed her body back against him.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

MacTavish turned his attention away from his captive and glanced at Preacher who was standing over the Lieutenant, holding layers of gauze against the man's neck.

"It's too late for him," the woman laughed.

"Shut up!" MacTavish yelled, pulling her off the wall and shoving her so she fell to the floor in an ungraceful mess. "Hacker, watch her!" he ordered. The computer whiz nodded, pressed a boot to the woman's chest to keep her down, and trained his sidearm on her head for good measure.

"MacTavish, he's dead," Preacher reported, closing Ghost's eyes. "The cut is a lot deeper than it looks. She got both jugular veins. He died in minutes." The medic picked up a familiar folding knife. "She used this."

"I told you it was useless." The woman's statement was followed by a grunt of pain as Hacker kicked her.

"Get her out of here," MacTavish muttered darkly. "I'm going to kill her otherwise." Hacker nodded, quickly following orders.

"Roach... he still has a pulse," Klepto assessed, two fingers pressed against a pulse point in the sergeant's neck. He picked up a bottle off the table, reading the label. He then tossed it to Preacher, who would be more familiar with the drug.

"She injected him with Brevital." Preacher paused at the blank stares he was getting. "Methohexital?"

"Is he going to be okay?" Klepto demanded.

"It's only a barbiturate… an anesthetic. But depending on how much she shot him up with…" The medic trailed of as he examined the remaining liquid inside of the bottle. It was more than half empty, but the hypodermic needle she'd use was relatively small. "…he _should _be fine."

"Well, can't you do anything?" Klepto insisted.

"It was an intravenous injection. What do you want me to do? Slice him open?" Preacher yelled back.

MacTavish listened idly, masking his own feelings on the situation. "Preacher, do what you can for Roach. I'm _not_ losing another man. Klepto, get in contact with Royce and Chemo. Let them know the situation."

"What about you, sir?"

"I'm going to have a talk with our captive."

Hacker was standing in the hallway outside one of the doors, fidgeting with his gun. "I tied her up to a chair, but I don't trust myself to be alone with her." He paused, contemplating whether or not he should continue. "To say it bluntly, Captain. I don't trust you alone with her either."

"Send Chemo and Meat in when they get here," the Scot replied simply, leaving Hacker alone in the hallway.

The woman was squirming in her seat, but she smiled when she noticed her new visitor. "So wonderful to finally meet the great Soap MacTavish! It's unfortunate we had to meet under these circumstances."

"Who are you?"

"Lylith Bathory. My real name as far as you're concerned."

MacTavish studied the tied up woman, not sure what to make of her. "Why have you been looking for me?"

A wide grin broke out on her face, her happiness even reaching her eyes. "I think a lot of woman are looking for a guy like you."

MacTavish backhanded her and blood dripped down her mouth as she slowly turned back to look at him, slightly dazed from the hit. He'd thrown the fact that she was a woman out of his head and only viewed her as the person responsible for the death of five of his men.

"A little _too _rough, don't you think?" Another toothy smile revealed blood stained teeth. "Alright, I'll tell you. I work for Boris Vorshevsky. Familiar with the name?"

He gritted his teeth, impatient with her way of going about things. She was willing to talk, so it didn't feel right to resort to more drastic measures, no matter how much his blood was boiling. "Of course," the Scot replied simply. "So you're an Ultranationalist."

She nodded. "You should know, having tracked Zakhaev. But, I digress. I'm sure you're also familiar with Vladimir Makarov." Lylith paused and squirmed in her seat, clearly uncomfortable with the ropes tying her down. Somewhat satisfied with her adjusted position she continued. "You were going to be our bargaining chip with Makarov. The man has been disrupting Vorshevsky's rule in Russia to say the least."

"Why does my life hold any significance to him?" MacTavish demanded.

Lylith clearly looked amused by his ignorance. "You really are clueless aren't you?"

"Tell me!" He yelled, backhanding her again.

"What do you think happened to John Price?" She laughed, nearly giddy with the power of knowing something MacTavish wanted.

"You fucking cunt!" He raged, ready to snap her neck.

"MacTavish!" Meat yelled as he and Chemo barely managed to hold the Scot back. He hadn't even noticed they'd come in.

"Hit a nerve, did I? I guess I shouldn't mention the recordings I made of your subordinates. Everything I did to them, it's all there."

"I'll kill you!"

Lylith, however, remained unfazed perhaps under the delusion that because she was a woman, she was somehow protected. She continued, her voice unwavering. "You are Price's sole surviving subordinate. Not to mention _you _were the one to kill Zakhaev. Your life is more important to us than you think."

A knock on the door brought MacTavish back to his senses and Preacher walked in, his medical gloves stained with spots of blood. "Captain?" The medic paused taking in the situation of his CO being held back by two others. "Roach… he's regained consciousness. I told him he shouldn't, but he said he wants to see her," he continued nodding his head in Lylith's direction.

Meat and Chemo released their hold and MacTavish gave one last look at Lylith before following Preacher out. The woman may have taken his men from him, but she'd taken so much more from the young sergeant. Even if John wanted to kill her a thousand times over, he wouldn't take that opportunity from Roach. He'd never known Roach to be a vengeful person, but the battered soldier deserved the right to decide her fate.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roach stared at MacTavish not knowing whether to be overjoyed or pissed off. Sure, he'd come to save him, but only he and Archer were left and from what he'd heard, the sniper was beyond repair. MacTavish just watched him, the expression on his face showing the guilt he felt.

"Fuck you," Roach muttered catching his CO off guard as he decked him. The Scot stumbled having not anticipated the attack.

"Roach!" Klepto yelled ready to tackle the sergeant, but MacTavish held out an arm effectively stopping his subordinate.

Roach moved toward the door ignoring his rescuers, but stopped when John spit the blood from his mouth. He paused feeling a rush of emotions go through him. He wanted to apologize, but seeing the blood stained metal panel in the reflection of the glass stilled his tongue. MacTavish wiped his mouth with his thumb and Roach knew the man wanted to say something. It almost made him feel worse knowing that his CO wasn't going to reprimand him.

"I'm sorry."

_'I know._' Roach mouthed, not wanting to talk anymore. _'Where is she?_'

MacTavish hesitated before responding. "In the next room."

Roach nodded as he left the captain to his thoughts. The hallway was empty aside from Hacker who stood in front of the room that housed _that_ woman. "Let me see her," the sergeant demanded despite the fact Hacker outranked him.

"You okay?" Hacker asked at the barely audible whisper.

_'Now._'

Hacker sneered. "Know who your friends are, Roach."

_'Yeah.'_

The man shook his head, but moved aside to let the sergeant pass. Roach kept his face blank as he entered the dimly lit room, the overheard emergency lights the only things working. There was a inconsistent flow of water coming from several pipes sticking out of the wall, a possible result from MacTavish's assault.

"Miss me love?" Lylith was tied up to a simple four legged chair and aside from the ring of bruises around her neck and her puffy reddened cheeks she looked relatively unharmed.

Roach spotted a pipe on the floor, the startling silver bringing back memories and he put a hand to his side. He picked up the steel pipe and held it tightly in his gloved fist, swinging it around, testing its weight and sturdiness. Lylith was watching his every move, her body tense as if expecting a hit that was sure to come. Roach knew the captain had had all sorts of plans for Lylith, but he'd relinquished that power to Gary, the only thing the sergeant had ever asked him for.

"I'm not going to hit you with this," Roach murmured coldly. _'That would be too easy._'

That smile was no longer plastered on her face, but she didn't seem too worried about her current situation.

He approached her and kicked her seat so it slid back; she grunted as her head bounced off the wall behind her. "I'm not going to do to you what you did to my friends. I really should after everything you've done. Bring you to the brink of death over and over again until I finally decide to kill you." His voice was coming out hoarse and it put a great strain on his throat, but the pain was inconsequential and only urged him on.

"Don't have the balls to do it?" Lylith laughed apparently amused by the thought that Roach wasn't willing to hurt a woman. "Your captain couldn't do anything either."

The sergeant dropped the pipe and Lylith winced as it clanged loudly against the floor. Roach ignored the sound and pulled out his custom folding knife instead. He flicked it open, his own blood and Riley's still staining its blade. He forced her mouth open and grabbed her tongue, holding it out, the blade in his other hand hovering over it. "You know, even if I do this your fucking laugh will never leave my head." Roach smiled as she struggled against him, every stroke of his hand cutting a little more into her tongue. With one final slice, he closed his knife, incoherent noises of pain coming forth from his victim. "It would only have gotten in the way," Roach continued after pocketing his knife. He laughed as he bent over to secure his grip around the metal pipe once again. "I had something like this go right through me, but I lived through it. I can't say the same will happen with you."

Roach grabbed her hair roughly, holding her head back so she faced the ceiling. Raising the pipe above her head and positioning it over her mouth, he thrust it down her throat cracking her front teeth along the way. Blood spewed from the other end of the pipe as he forced it deeper into her body, the adrenaline making it easier to do than a hot knife through butter. Lylith's body twitched and convulsed, attempting to escape the pain, something Roach never allowed to happen.

"You enjoy something down your fucking throat don't you?" Roach screamed, his own eyes filling with tears. He felt no pleasure from killing the person who had caused him so much pain, no guilt for utterly destroying another human being, no satisfaction from avenging his fallen comrades. All he felt was emptiness and pain as he let his body fall to the floor, tears falling in torrents down his face.

_'I'm sorry Riley._'

Roach let his anguish overcome him because this time Ghost wasn't around to tell him that it would be okay.


	10. Epilogue

**A/N: **As this story is finally coming to a close, I put a poll up on my profile with a list of the other stories I've been working on. I'll (most likely) concentrate on finishing whatever gets the most votes.

Review Replies:  
**GJOST LOVER: **Typo? I hope she died in a way you thought was fitting.

**Anon:**It didn't feel right for Roach to torture Lylith endlessly after everything he went through, but I also wanted him to be the one to do it. I'm rather happy with it (in a messed up kind of way). Just curious, how did you expect her to die? And thank you very much for your comments! I'm incredibly flattered to say the least.

**xStealthxSniperx: **Roach may be a little too messed up in the head even for that, well you be the judge after you read this chapter. And you're not the only one. A lot of people have been wanting to do horrible things to Lylith since her debut. I loved (to a point) writing the messed up stuff happening to everyone and did a rather large amount of research, so glad to hear my effort paid off.

* * *

**Several months later…**

Soap cursed as he watched Roach go down after taking a hit from an enemy sniper. He'd excused the sergeant's sudden and numerous mishaps as a result of his body adjusting to hard days of training after months of both physical and psychological therapy, but this was getting ridiculous.

MacTavish remained where he was and Roach sat up waiting for Preacher as the medic jogged over. The medic pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket revealing the injury Roach would've sustained if the whole thing had not been a training exercise with blanks instead of real bullets. Roach merely pocketed the slip of paper and let himself fall back onto the soft grass, so he lie staring at the sky.

MacTavish walked over and Roach turned toward him as he stood in the young man's light. "Dead?"

Roach shook his head, holding out the paper for MacTavish to read.

"Chest wound," the Scot read aloud. "Survivable."

The sergeant shrugged, apparently not caring either way as he turned away and continued facing the sky, but Gary's expression was blank. His eyes were unfocused as if blind and seeing nothing that was in front of him.

MacTavish had wondered if Roach simply wasn't ready to return to active duty with all the shite he kept getting himself into even when just running the damn obstacle course, but Gary was always quick to assist a teammate and did so with elegance and ease.

It was then that Soap began to wonder if it wasn't clumsiness on Roach's part but carelessness that arose from a lack of concern for his own life. When it came to his own survival the sergeant had little motivation.

"Need a vacation?" MacTavish suggested, bringing up their previous 'discussion' of Roach going on medical leave.

The sergeant gave him a blank look, his answer once again an obvious, '_No_'.

Archer hadn't had the same luxury and was medically discharged; he was deemed unfit both physically and psychologically. His mental state had improved after sessions with Preacher, but the loss of his eyesight was taking a bigger toll on the sniper than was originally thought. In the end, the Brit had been sent home; "useless" as Shepherd had called him. It took everything MacTavish had not to stab his knife into the general's eye and show the old man just how _useless _he could make him.

"You okay?" MacTavish asked still standing over Roach. The young sergeant's face was almost unreadable as Roach wore goggles and had taken up the fallen XO's old habit of mask wearing to hide his new scars. Soap knew Roach wasn't so vain as to care that his face had been marred; it was the memories that resurfaced when he looked into a mirror that drove the sergeant to hide them.

Instead of responding, Roach reached into one of his many pockets and pulled out a cigar, cutting the tip off and lighting it. The sergeant had also taken up the habit of smoking, something he'd always playfully scolded MacTavish for in the past.

It crushed MacTavish to know the reasons why Roach had changed so much. The permanent damage to the sergeant's vocal chords left him without a voice. The newly developed carelessness that arose from a blatant lack of concern for his own well-being. The goggles and a face mask to hide his new scars. Roach's new habit of smoking…

…that was the one thing MacTavish had yet to figure out.

Roach opened his mouth to speak but then paused as the action caused him discomfort. A few minutes passed before the sergeant once again turned to him, the small smile on his face as empty as his eyes.

'_One day, I hope this thing kills me._'


	11. Deleted Scenes

**A/N: **Oh what, an update for this? Not really, just six deleted/alternate scenes I never got around to posting. (Story 'completed' 10/17/10). I write scenes/plot lines as the come to me so I don't forget, then edit them and elaborate on each scene when the story gets to that part. As I didn't actually use these scenes, plot holes and disjointedness will no doubt arise.

* * *

**Doc & Ghost Torture: **The idea that inspired the story though it didn't turn out quite like I wanted, so it was never included.

Doc bandaged the large cut across the lieutenant's side seeing no reason for stitches. It always amazed him how scarred Ghost's body was and while he didn't agree with the man's decision, he understood why Riley wore the mask.

"How are the others?" Ghost asked, his eyes still closed.

"Roach is mostly fine. Cigar burns, damage to his vocal chords, and a rather large cut across his face. Haven't seen Ozone. Archer's been blinded, stabbed in the leg and injected with the neurotoxin, tetrodoxtoxin. He was still alive last time I saw him and as long as he doesn't get any more special treatment, he should be fine."

"You?"

Doc lifted his shirt up showing his superior the long line of stitches across his stomach. "Other than this and some minor mental shit, I've been left alone." But after taking care of Roach, Archer, and now Ghost, the medic understood why Lylith didn't care to hurt him too much. "If it comes down to it, what do you want me to do?" Doc asked cryptically.

Ghost replied without a hint of hesitation. "Live."

"Even if-"

Ghost cut him off. "We're all going to live through this. I've been through worse," he sighed as if the whole situation was a mere bother.

The medic remained silent, unsure of whether he wanted to breach the subject or even if Riley would be willing to answer. "What would you have done if you had been there?"

Riley stiffened and Doc knew the memories were floating back to the forefront of his mind. "You're saying if I was just there watching? They were going to die no matter what I did." He paused, mulling over his words. "I don't want to die, even if I say I do."

Doc suddenly felt angry at Ghost even if the emotion was misplaced. "It's not my fucking life."

"Sorry, Doc." Ghost smiled. "You specialize in saving lives, not taking them."

"I have a proposal for you, medic." The two men looked up at the speaker box as Lylith's voice came through. "Ever perform a splenectomy?"

Doc hesitated, looking to his CO for an answer, but Ghost shrugged leaving the decision to him. "I have…"

She laughed apparently pleased. "And you know that you don't need your spleen _to live_."

"That doesn't mean you don't need it," he growled.

"It mostly acts as a blood filter and fights against infections, but your other organs should compensate for the most part if your spleen _is _removed."

"So what do you want?" Ghost asked once again cutting through their captive's bullshit.

"I'm giving your medic an option. Either he performs it or I do."

"Why would I-"

"Because you know the risk of injury to other organs increases with the incompetence of the person doing it." The speaker box went silent for a few moments. "If you don't do the procedure, I get rid of you and perform the surgery on your CO, which will no doubt increase the likeliness of him dying. You do it, he'll probably live another day. But one important caveat, I seem to have run out of anesthesia."

Ghost sighed. "What's the risk Doc?"

"Increased risk of sepsis and any infections you do contract after are likely to become more severe. An increase in blood leukocytes as well as an abnormally high platelet count which can lead to clots."

"Just do it," Ghost muttered.

"I'd love to watch," Lylith said sweetly, before the speaker went silent.

"The spleen is located under your rib cage on the left side of your abdomen and that's where we'll make the incision. After, I'll need to tie your splenic artery to prevent blood loss and to keep your spleen from further sequestration of blood cells. I'll detach the ligaments holding your spleen in place and remove it."

"Just do it," Ghost said again.

"It's going to hurt."

The lieutenant laughed. "When doesn't it?"

* * *

**Doc and Ozone Alternate Scene: **After Chapter 5 if I decided to use this.

Doc grunted as the guards pushed him forward and with his arms handcuffed behind him, he couldn't catch himself and he fell face first onto the hard concrete, the granite scraping against his skin. The guards left, the door closed solidly behind them, once again leaving Doc in an unfamiliar room. He flipped onto his back, the action causing a trail of blood to slide down his temple from his newly inflicted wound, but the pain was forgotten as a familiar face looked down at him.

"You're bleeding," Ozone observed, stating the obvious. Doc noted his friend _looked_ fine, but there was a twitch in the man's lips that unsettled the medic. "Need some help?"

"That would be nice," Doc uttered lamely and Ozone picked him up off the floor.

"Have you seen the others?"

"Archer and Ghost were fine last time I saw them. I know about Toad and Scarecrow."

Doc sighed, feeling a desperate need to fill his lungs with something cancerous. "Archer may not be so fine right now. _She _took out his eyes."

"Shit man. He was perfectly fine when I saw him. Well before Lylith stabbed him with that needle."

Doc flinched at the woman's name wondering how Ozone could say it so freely, but looking at his friend there wasn't so much as a scratch on him. Maybe he hadn't quite experienced what the fucking whore could do. "So why'd they stick you in here?"

"Not sure. I think Lylith did it for Archer since she was hauling him off somewhere." Ozone pulled out his knife, running a finger over its edge almost hard enough to break the skin.

Doc eyed his friend suspiciously, wondering if the damage done to Ozone had all been psychological.

"You ever wonder…"

"Wonder what?"

"Why we got caught so easily."

Doc sneered as everything clicked into place. "You fucking traitor."

Ozone merely laughed the sound reminiscent of another sociopath Doc had recently met. Doc had never felt a greater desire to kill someone before, but Ozone held the knife firmly in his grip, and each was fully aware of the other's capabilities.

"That's a nice scar you got there."

"Yeah, your girlfriend was nice enough to give me some attention."

"You know you have no chance, right?"

Doc decided to humor his friend as his mind worked to think up a solution. "And why is that?"

"We _do_ have the same training, but you're wounded, handcuffed and I have a weapon." Ozone stabbed his knife into the cushion of the reclining chair beside him, knowing that in Doc's current state there was no chance in hell he could get to it before him.

"So you're taking orders from a woman now," the medic mocked as he eyed the bladed weapon.

"As a matter of fact, I'm not." Ozone slipped on his gloves then ran his hand over the counter sending an empty glass beaker to the floor. He stepped over it, the pieces further cracking under his boot. "We're equals, but…" Ozone smiled as he bent over to pick up the shards, collecting them in one gloved palm. "She takes orders very well given the right _situation_."

"The great 141 was brought down due to some bastard eager for a nice fuck."

"Damn, Doc, I'm not so petty. I didn't screw you all over just for that."

"Then why'd you do it?" Doc spat out.

"Why do you think I did?"

"Because you're a sick fuck."

Ozone put a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. "After all we've been through? I thought we were closer than that." He made a fist so the glass crunched in his palm. "I did it…"

Doc stumbled, suddenly feeling nauseous. _What had that woman injected him with?_

"What's wrong, Doc?" Ozone smiled. "Lylith give you a little something extra?"

"Shit." He'd been so in and out of consciousness lately, he didn't remember being drugged, nevertheless his body felt heavy and he collapsed to the ground. He must have blacked out because Ozone slapped him demanding he wake up. "You know, this is getting old," the medic stated as he was once again strapped down.

"You know Doc, I like you. I really do."

Doc huffed. "Well, not enough _not _to continue."

"A way for them to trust me."

"Betrayal itself not enough?"

Ozone sighed almost as if he did regret his actions. "Have it your way then." He lifted his palm up, a sparkling in his glove indicating he still held the crushed up pieces of glass.

Doc screamed as Ozone pressed the shards against his skin, the pain becoming agonizing as Ozone moved his hand from side to side over his stomach, the glass slicing into his skin and cutting into his stitches. "Fuuuuck!" He could feel the tinier pieces lodging themselves into skin. "Why?" He screamed through clenched teeth.

"I did it to prove that I could." Ozone backed off, giving the medic time to compose himself.

"So then… this is a fucking whim of yours?" Doc barely managed, his words broken.

"You know there isn't always an explanation for why we do things," Ozone patronized. "People aren't so black and white like it is with your work. You take a fucking autopsy and all is explained. The reasons why we kill aren't always so clear cut, Doc."

Doc replied through clenched teeth, "I know that."

"Shall we go through your list then? Reason one for betrayal. Love. I sure as hell don't love Lylith and therefore, I didn't do it for that."

"I'm going to fucking bleed out before you finish your monologue."

"And honestly I don't care. _You're_ the one who wants to know why you're in this position in the first place. So next, country? Yeah, fucked that when I joined the 141."

Doc breathed in, knowing his stitches held firm despite the new pain that accompanied them. "Money, ideals…"

His captor once again pulled out his knife, twirling it playfully between his gloved hands. "How about… the lesser of two evils?"

The medic scoffed. "How can you believe that?"

Ozone merely laughed in response. "And how can you always believe what that old bastard tells us? You guys knew jack shit about what Lylith was doing when he had us sent out here. It's only because of our COs that we ever have the chance to get out of some fucked up situation."

Doc closed his eyes, not wanting to deal with it anymore. Shepherd was an ass, but- "Fuck it, I don't care anymore."

"I'm disappointed Doc, broken already?"

"No."

Ozone smiled, apparently amused. "If it helps I don't believe Lylith can really break any of you." He shrugged as if disregarding his previous comment. "Of course, that's not going to stop her from trying."

Both men were startled at the sound of a nearby explosion and the sprinklers in the room went off despite there not being a spark of fire anywhere. Ozone casually stood, his knife in one hand, watching the door. "You think it's MacTavish come to rescue you?"

"Yeah, and hopefully to fuck you over as well."

"Ouch, so harsh Doc."

"You know MacTavish is going to ripe your balls off when he gets his hands on you."

"Shall I do the same for you now?" Ozone replied though he refused to take his eyes off the door.

Doc watched his former comrade, noticing a slight agitation in the way the man carried himself. "Nervous?"

Ozone composed himself, sparing a glance at the medic. "We had the same training, Doc. You know I'm not."

"I'd have to question that given the situation. I wouldn't fucking _betray _my friends."

Ozone was once again concentrated on the door, his words no longer carrying the teasing tone it had earlier. "And that's where you're wrong. We were _teammates_, Doc. We were never _friends_."

* * *

**Roach Torture: **Random scene that ended up not being used.

Roach tried to relax, but with each intake of breath he felt his heart race faster, the thought of controlling his breathing only succeeding in making him more aware of it and therefore it more erratic. He felt restless and each desire to change his position solidified the fact that he was trapped in a box unable to move more than a centimeter in any direction. His breathing quickened and he choked unable to fill his lungs with air.

The sound of running water calmed him, but a solid hit tipped the box over and the sergeant soon found his back soaked, the water reaching the back of his ears. "Let me out of here!" Roach screamed despite the words seemingly cutting at his throat. He was going to drown_. He was going to fucking drown. _"Help me!" Roach wailed thrashing about.

The water level rose and Roach had to lift his head to keep the water from entering his ears. When was someone going to let him out? _Was _someone going to let him out? He pressed against the side of his boxed prison, unable to apply much pressure due to the limited space inside.

He nearly cried when a side of the box was pried off and he came face to face with Lylith. Roach couldn't stop his body from shaking as she reached toward him, but was satisfied when he flinched at her touch.

"_Help me!_"

Roach winced at the sound of his voice being played back for him.

Lylith held a recorder in her hand and looked pleased with his reaction. "Cold?" she asked, looking him over. He was cold, tied up, and naked, but he wouldn't humor her by replying. "Do you know how long you were in there for?"

_Two hours?_

She smiled as if she knew he'd answered the question in his head. "Try ten minutes." Lylith pointed to the clock on the wall, which implied ten minutes had passed, but it was too easy to change a clock. She was fucking with him. "And speaking of the time, I have others to attend to-"

"Wait!" Roach shouted before Lylith even had a chance to turn towards the door.

"Want me to stay?" Her eyes looked mischievous as she spoke. She said it so _sexually _that Roach just wanted her to leave especially so since his clothes were nowhere in sight, but her being with him meant Ghost and the others were safe. She asked the question again, patiently waiting for his answer.

"Yes."

"I think I may be getting somewhere with you." Her heel clacked on the floor as she moved toward him, but she thought better of the action and headed towards the door. "I'll be back soon, love."

Roach couldn't be sure how much time had passed since Lylith had left. He resorted to lying on top of the box that had been his prison since it kept him dry and he was in no mood to stand. He was happy his captor had left; nevertheless looking back on it Roach couldn't help but want her to come back. It wasn't so much Stockholm syndrome as it was a desire for human contact. It was a basic human desire that plagued him as much as taking the life of another. Everything was bringing him back to his basic training. They'd fuck with his mind, torture his body, and do what they had to in order to break him, but there was nothing they could do to prepare him for watching a friend be killed.

* * *

**Ozone & Roach Scene: **Sometime after the Ozone & Doc scene above.

Ozone pulled off his jacket, which was now heavy with the water from the sprinklers. He smiled as an idea overcame him and he pressed a button on Doc's chair which set it at a reverse incline so the medic's head was at a lower level than his feet.

Despite himself, Doc felt his heart race slightly as the idea of what Ozone wanted to do implanted itself in his mind. _Waterboarding_.

Ozone seemed to sense his agitation. "Nervous?" he mocked as picked up a rather large beaker and filled it with water from the sink faucet.

"No," Doc answered, relieved that his voice didn't give him away. People who'd never had to endure waterboarding regarded it as a more humane form of torture, if such a thing existed, but Doc firmly believed that's what made the practice worse. It was unlikely to actually kill; there was minimal evidence of physical trauma and it had a rapid recovery time, yet it broke people within minutes, most within seconds.

He struggled against his restraints as Ozone covered his forehead and eyes with a cloth, slowly pouring water over it until it was soaked. "Ozone, don't do this."

"I think you should save your breath."

Doc struggled harder against the cuffs binding him to his seat once Ozone pulled the cloth lower over his face so it covered both his nose and mouth. He calmed his breathing, but already with the presence of the cloth he could feel himself start to panic. He knew the cloth restricted his breathing, which would only increase the carbon dioxide level in his blood.

"You ready Doc?" Ozone poured more water onto the towel and Doc strained to breathe, but his mind was already working against him creating the perception that he was drowning. He _knew_ he wasn't drowning as Ozone slowly applied more water, but the physiological sensation of it incited a sense of panic and Doc fought not to suffocate.

Thinking logically, Doc knew it had to be less than a minute passed before Ozone removed the cloth, an odd look on his face as he watched the medic. "You haven't gone through this before have you?" He asked, generally surprised.

Doc's breathing came in rapid gasps as his lungs filled themselves with air.

"Shall we do this again without the cloth?" Ozone put his hand over Doc's mouth and pressed his body against the medic's head, effectively preventing Doc from moving his head. He picked up the beaker once again and poured the water directly into the medic's nose, this time sending water into the man's lungs. The medic's eyes contorted in pain and he thrashed about until he screamed incoherently into Ozone's hand.

Ozone released him and Doc vomited onto the floor, tears in his eyes as he breathed. "I'll do it. Whatever." He gasped, wanting Ozone to stop the only thing on his mind. "What do you want?"

"Nothing. And that's the worst part about this."

"Don't!" Doc screamed as the cloth was once again lifted.

Ozone laughed. "I guess you've really been broken this time, Doc." In one swift motion, he held his tactical knife in hand and in another graceful move the medic was dead. "That's too bad."

"What the _fuck _did you do?" Someone murmured darkly from behind him.

Ozone turned around sharply at the unrecognizable voice. Roach stood in the doorway surveying the room. The sergeant was alone and apparently unarmed. "Something wrong, Gary?" he mocked as he rubbed at his throat.

"Shut up!" Roach yelled as he rushed him, the action catching Ozone off guard and they were both sent to the floor, his knife sliding underneath a table.

Roach pinned Ozone beneath him, but barely managed a punch before the man kneed him in the side and switched their positions. He braced himself for the hit, but Ozone remained motionless after successfully pinning the sergeant beneath him.

"I don't want to have to kill you too, Roach."

"You're a fucking traitor, Ozone!" Roach coughed, knowing his throat wouldn't last much longer with all the strain he was placing on it. He flinched as something wet dropped onto his face and with a quick glance up, he realized it was from the blood now flowing freely from Doc's throat. "Get off of me!" Ozone's hold on him remained firm and the man appeared mostly unscathed, though a large cut had opened below his left eye.

"Roach, relax."

"Don't you fucking say anything!" Roach yelled, his voice going hoarse. '_You killed Doc!_' Something at the edge of his peripheral caught his attention and Roach picked up the shard of glass, stabbing it into Ozone's neck. The man grunted, and Roach grabbed Ozone by the collar of his shirt and threw him against the wall. Ozone grunted again, but this time Roach seized a fistful of the man's hair and slammed his head against the corner of the counter. The action had an almost instantaneous result as Ozone's body went limp.

Surprised, Roach stumbled back, noting that Ozone didn't appear to be breathing. _'I killed him.' _

* * *

**Roach & Ghost Ending: **I wrote an ending that revolved around Roach _and_ Ghost since I originally planned for him to survive instead of Archer. (But everyone expects Roach and Ghost to live).

Soap wasn't sure as to why his lieutenant was rarely without his almost comical balaclava but MacTavish knew the man had his reasons. However, the captain had seen the man's face on several occasions and from what he could tell Riley really had nothing to hide. Numerous scars marred the Englishman's body but his face was left untouched.

In connection, since his team had rescued Roach and Ghost from their hellish nightmare in captivity, Roach had taken up wearing a face mask as well. A long scar ran down the sergeant's face, starting from between Roach's eyebrows and down across the bridge of his nose and beneath one eye.

Gary hid his physical wounds from the world, but Ghost seemed to be concealing psychological scars behind a skeletal grin. It appeared to be a pretense of happiness or perhaps it tied in with Ghost's belief that the man he had been, before his first time in captivity, was dead.

Ghost and Roach had always been good friends, but now they were rarely seen apart. Roach had lost his voice as a result of damaged vocal chords, but the two took comfort in the simplicity of the other's presence.

Another habit Gary had picked up since his return was smoking. On his own smoke breaks, Soap merely observed as Roach and Ghost leaned against a tree watching the shift of the stars in the sky, passing a single cigarette between them.

The scars they shared would take time to heal, but at least they didn't have to do it alone.

* * *

**Alternate Epilogue: **This is the only scene that actually fits in with the rest of the story as it barely missed being the 'official' ending.

Soap cursed as he watched Roach go down after being hit by a hidden sniper. He'd excused the sergeant's sudden and numerous mishaps as a result of his body adjusting to hard days of training after months of both physical and psychological therapy, but this was getting ridiculous. Soap remained where he was and Roach sat up waiting for Preacher as the medic jogged over. The medic pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket revealing the injury Roach would've sustained if the whole thing had not been a training exercise with blanks instead of real bullets. Roach merely pocketed the slip of paper and let himself fall back onto the soft grass, so he lie staring at the sky.

MacTavish walked over and Roach turned toward him as he stood in the young man's light. "Dead?"

Roach shook his head, holding out the paper for MacTavish to read.

"Chest wound," the Scot read aloud. "Survivable."

The sergeant shrugged, apparently not caring either way as he turned away and continued facing the sky, but Gary's expression was impassive. His eyes were unfocused as if blind and seeing nothing that was in front of him.

MacTavish had wondered if Roach simply wasn't ready to return to active duty with all the shite he kept getting himself into even when just running the damn obstacle course, but Gary was always quick to assist a teammate and did so with elegance and ease.

It was then that Soap began to wonder if it wasn't clumsiness on Roach's part but carelessness that arose from a lack of concern for his own life. When it came to his own survival the sergeant had little motivation. It was as if the moment Soap ceased orders for Roach to find cover or get to safety the man would just give up and die.

"Need a vacation?" MacTavish suggested, bringing up their previous 'discussion' of Roach going on medical leave.

The sergeant gave him a blank look, his answer once again an obvious, '_No_'.

Archer hadn't had the same luxury and was medically discharged; he was deemed unfit both physically and psychologically. His mental state had improved after sessions with Preacher, but the loss of his eyesight was taking a bigger toll on the sniper than was originally thought and as a result the Brit had been sent home; "useless" as Shepherd had called him. It took everything MacTavish had not to stab his knife into the general's eye and show the old man just how _useless _he could make him.

"You okay?" MacTavish asked still standing over Roach. The young sergeant's face was almost unreadable as Roach had taken up the fallen XO's old habit of mask wearing to hide his new scars. Soap knew Roach wasn't so vain as to care that his face had been marred; it was the memories that resurfaced when he looked into a mirror that drove the sergeant to hide them.

Instead of responding, Roach reached into one of his many pockets and pulled out a cigar, cutting the tip off and lighting it with a Zippo. The sergeant had taken up the habit of smoking, something he'd always playfully scolded MacTavish for in the past.

It crushed MacTavish to know the reasons why Roach had changed so much. The permanent damage to the sergeant's vocal chords left him without a voice. The newly developed carelessness that arose from a blatant lack of concern for his well-being. The goggles and a face mask to hide his new scars. Roach's new habit of smoking…

…that was the one thing MacTavish had yet figure out.

Roach opened his mouth to speak but then paused as the action caused him discomfort. A few minutes passed before the sergeant once again turned to him, the small smile on his face as empty as his eyes.

'_One day, I hope this thing kills me._'

It was less than a week later that Roach would get his wish as Shepherd lit his funeral pyre with a discarded cigar.


End file.
